A Lesser Beauty
by Versace Frolic
Summary: Roxas, a junior in college, is tormented by emotional baggage and unrequited love. On a campus populated by burnouts and bored intellectuals, Roxas is just another proverbial drop in the bucket of teenage apathy. Then he meets Axel. Roxas-centric AkuRoku.
1. Chapter 1: Empires

**Disclaimer:** Characters aren't mine, and I don't intend any copyright infringement. Disney and Square Enix can keep what belongs to them. But the plot? That's all mine, baby.

**Summary:** Roxas, a junior in college, is tormented by emotional baggage and unrequited love. On a campus populated by burnouts and bored intellectuals, Roxas is just another proverbial drop in the bucket of teenage apathy. When he meets Axel, an older transfer student troubled by a dark past, Roxas' purposefully small and safe existence is catapulted into the enormity and unflinching reality of a world he tried so hard to forget. Through a haze of sex, drugs, and indifference, can Axel and Roxas find a way to put the pieces together? Roxas-centric. AkuRoku.

**Rating:** M for adult language and content, sexual content and abuse, and flagrant drug use. I guess I could start off at a T and eventually bump it up to an M, but I suck at this rating thing anyway. SEX, DRUGS, DRINKING, AND HOT DUDES WHO WANT TO BONE EACH OTHER. If that sentence offends you, either grammatically or thematically, then you won't like this story.

**A/N**: I know, I know. _Another high-school/college fic_? It's played out, I get it. I wanted to try it anyway. It's the story sitting in my brain, and if I don't write it, I'll go batshit. I mean, I'm already crazy, but I'll go _batshit_ crazy. That's epic crazy right there, people. The outline is set for 24 chapters, roughly 150,000 words. I'm a little torn on what categories to stick this under, so I'm going with my gut. I guess some of the supporting cast might seem OOC, but I like to think I'm giving them lives and histories outside of the safe KH canon. Okay? No hard feelings? Good!

That said, the first chapter is actually quite tame. Let's all give it up for actual exposition!

--

**Chapter One: Empires**

There is something in the quality of air, perhaps a trace of some lethality affecting those who haven't lived long enough to build up an immunity to it, some light haze that settles past the skin and into the blood where, with determined efficiency, the exuberance of youth fades into the reluctance of adolescence. Where there once was a boundless joy and aptitude, a ready-for-anything and chomping-at-the-bit excitement, there is now a marked disinterest. After all, it's not that Roxas _couldn't_ finish the last three pages of _A Winter's Tale_. It's that he _wouldn't_. He didn't care to. First week of junior year, and he was already fed up. So, staring out at the perpetual motion of the beach, Roxas fished another cigarette from his pack of Parliaments and lifted it to the one already in his mouth. The oddly-fashioned cement bench outside one of three strictly upperclassmen dorms on the outskirts of campus sent chills up his back when he tried to recline, so the he sat hunched sideways, one palm pressed against the abnormally cool seat. The weather was strange for the beginning of September; two years of temperate weather even in the dead of winter suggested as much. Roxas closed his eyes and tried to visualize the inside of his luggage, trying to remember if the jackets were already unpacked. He shouldn't have needed them for at least another two months. _The weather gods are angered_, he thought faintly, a little cloud of smoke drifting out of his mouth and across the quad where two girls were locking their bikes to a rack. One of them turned and glared at Roxas, coughed loudly, and gave him the finger. Roxas raised a hand and waved briefly in response. He cleared his throat.

"Free country, sweetheart," he called out across the quad, smiling brightly and taking another long drag. The girl who flipped him off stared blankly for a few seconds, shrugged, and pulled her friend inside their dorm. _Ah_, Roxas thought. _Sluts of Math and Science. Nice_. The three upperclassmen dorms were grouped under satisfyingly vague titles: Women of Science and Technology, Global Community, and Sober Living. Or, alternately: Sluts of Math and Science (how "Technology" became "Math" is anyone's guess), Hippies, Foreigners, and Vegans, and the Crack House. When Roxas transitioned over from the underclassmen dorms, his first choice had been Sober Living. If he'd known the alternate name, he'd have gone off campus. Whatever tweaker genius decided it'd be hilarious to get spun in the Sober Living dorm passed on his legacy to even more tweaker geniuses who decided to get their e-tard friends and stoner acquaintances in on the scheme. By the time the kids in Roxas' year moved in, it felt more or less like an actual crack house. The often-rotated single graduate RA at the very corner on the first floor seemed either unbelievably oblivious or understandably baked. Roxas thought he'd have to move out at first—he'd gotten a contact high just from walking down the hall to the bathroom on the first night—but he'd gotten used to the idea over the course of the first week. It reminded him of home.

_Chain-smoking_, he thought. _That's what I'm reduced to. It's the only thing I learned how to do in college. Chain-smoke._ Replacing the new cigarette for the now smoking filter of the other, he lifted his right foot and squashed the stub into the plastic sole of his Vans, idly wondering if one day it might melt through.

"One day that's gunna melt though," an amused voice said over his shoulder. Roxas's eyebrows shot up and he turned his head to tell the guy he was a mind reader, but he only caught a flash of red disappearing around the corner, followed by the soft clunking of footsteps on the dorm stairs headed toward the left: Hippies, Foreigners, and Vegans. Or, conveniently, HPV (read: genital warts), since "ph" might phonetically form the "f" sound. Roxas' brain started churning; a series of faces flipping quickly in his mind's eye. With such a diminutive student population, Roxas felt like he knew nearly every other kid in his year, and that was a shade of red impossible to forget. _Huh, fresh meat_, he acknowledged, pulling slowly at the cigarette and letting the smoke curl out past his lips. It wasn't often that students transferred in to Kingdom.

Situated at the end of a peninsula jutting out arrogantly into the Pacific, Kingdom University was the crowning achievement of some nauseatingly wealthy long-dead recluse committed to cardiology. Sure the brochure pictures looked nice, the way the sky was always the same shade of royal blue and perfectly formed waves crashed with only moderate abandon on the stretching shore, but it was not what Roxas had expected. He'd thought he could deal with the relative isolation, the nearest town being thirty miles North. He'd certainly thought that the aesthetic beauty of the place would at least inspire him to finally start that novel he'd been planning. After all, perpetual summer was nice in theory, especially coming from a sleepy town where an overcast sky was cause for half the girls in his tiny high school to skip class and sunbathe at the local community pool. But real perpetual summer, where nine out of the twelve months were the exact same kind of sunny and the other three boasted torrential rains followed schizophrenically by heat waves and bone-numbing cold snaps, had the alarming effect of feeling like… well, like_ hell_. Each incoming class of freshmen hit the beach in droves the first three days after moving in before realizing, as if struck by divine thunder, _"Holy shit, how are we actually going to get anything done?"_ The answer, of course, being that they aren't. The pajama generation meets the surfer generation meets the stoner generation at Kingdom, and the number of dropouts and pitiful post graduation job placement rates were just one reason a smart transfer would stay far _far_ away from Kingdom. _Unless_…

Exhaling the last of his smoke, Roxas tossed the stub on the floor, toeing it quickly and kicking it to the side. The new kid was probably a fuck up, then. _Join the club_, he thought wryly, dusting the cigarette ashes off his jeans. He stood from the bench and stretched his arms high overhead, feeling the stretch up the sides of his body like easy warmth. The ghost of something ran its fingers up his ribs and he shivered, lowering his arms immediately. _Already_? he questioned, the beginning of a grimace settling over his alarmingly childlike features. _It's still the first week. Too fucking early_. Roxas shook his head and made his way to the set of outdoor stairs. He'd cursed his luck when he arrived a week ago because, despite having a ground floor room for the first two years of college, junior year landed him on the third. It had been a bitch moving in with only his mom's help, and he'd shot death glares at any student fortunate enough to have a large family. It had taken twenty-seven trips to the car to get everything into his dorm.

Standing just outside his room, Roxas leaned in to examine the dry erase board affixed to the door, courtesy of the RA and, apparently, _Coca-Cola_. "YOUR HOT, ROX-ASS!" it exclaimed in laughable squiggly caps. _Your_? he smirked. Shaking his head, he opened the door. His roommate was in, reading on his top bunk. Roxas rolled his eyes.

"I got your message, Zex," he said, flipping open the lid of his laptop. "I thought English majors knew the difference between 'your' as in 'my' and 'you're' as in 'you are retarded.'"

"Ah, but they do, Roxas," Zexion said, eyes focused on the book he was reading. "So you see, it couldn't have been me." A smile quirked at Zexion's mouth and Roxas rolled his eyes again. Zexion had a weird sense of humor.

Sitting at his university-issued 3/4-inch birch desk, Roxas stared blankly at his laptop. He crossed his fingers. He opened his e-mail client and closed his eyes. _Nothing, please, thanks. Please, just nothing_. Cracking his lids, Roxas saw that "nothing" came in the form of two new e-mails from Sora; a grand total of seventeen since he'd seen him a week ago. "Fuck," he mumbled. At this, Zexion raised his eyes from his novel and stared at the back of Roxas' head with interest.

"Problem?" Zexion asked, politely curious.

"…It's nothing." _Nothing. Just Sora. It's nothing_. Roxas checked all seventeen of the messages and hovered his mouse over the "delete" button. He could do it, he figured. He could do it and then when Sora called, he'd say the Internet was down. He could do it. _Fuck_. No, he couldn't. Sighing, Roxas shut the lid of the laptop.

"Come out with me," Zexion said suddenly, closing the novel and tossing it to the side. "There's a couple new kids hanging out at Little V." Zexion said this like it was meant to sound enticing, but Roxas cringed at the idea. "Little Vista," alternately "Little V" or just "Vista," was a small rundown shack in the neighboring mile of non-campus housing. Populated by what Roxas called "arty fucks," Little Vista was where Zexion spent most of his time either drunk or baked out of his mind. It was rare that he was in the dorm at all, content to get fucked up at Vista and while the hours away talking about art or books or whatever it is that arty fucks talk about through the delirium of good pot and cheap liquor.

"Uh,' Roxas stalled, "I have to, uh, study." Roxas gestured to the open Social Psych book on his university-issued 3/4-inch birch desk, the sides sticky noted with half a neon rainbow. Zexion all but threw his castoff novel straight at Roxas' head.

"Study that, Rox-ass," he smirked, leaning back on his elbows, legs hanging off the top bunk. "It's a personal favorite."

"I don't speak Japanese," Roxas said, glaring at the author's name. "I can't even pronounce this shit."

"Murakami? Roxas, you slay me," Zexion said without inflection, lifting a hand to his chest. Chuckling lowly, he hopped off the top bunk and plucked the book from Roxas' hands. "Besides. It's translated, retard." He tossed the novel back on the top bunk and started rifling through his closet. Roxas wondered why the boy even bothered with a closet when he wore some variation of the same black on black ensemble everyday.

"You're a real sweetheart, Zex. You know that, right?" Roxas sat on his bottom bunk and gathered his legs up to his chest. He needed to think anyway; the number "seventeen" repeating at increasingly louder decibels in his brain. Vista would make him feel miserable. Zexion took in the sight of Roxas, moping and clutching at himself in a modified fetal position, and exhaled loudly.

"Listen to me, Roxas. You look _droopy_. Your _hair_ is drooping, and your hair never droops." Roxas frowned and touched his hair experimentally. "You're thinking about that Sora kid, right?" Roxas's eyes shot up and narrowed at Zexion. "Don't look at me like that, Rox. I've been your roommate for two years. I know what you're like the first few weeks of school."

"Just butt the fuck out, Zex. You don't know anything about it," Roxas said quietly, his fists instinctually tightening as he drew his knees hard into his chest.

"Yeah," Zexion laughed, effectively defusing the situation and brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I know. So let's get your mind off of it, for fuck's sake. _Come out with me_. Don't think about it, just _do it_." Zexion opened the door and stood in the threshold, expectant.

"UGH, I totally hate you," Roxas groaned, heaving himself out of his bunk and grabbing at the hooded sweatshirt on the back of his university-issued 3/4-inch birch chair.

"Yes, you totally do," Zexion smirked, holding the door open and sweeping his hand to allow Roxas passage. "After you, sweetie."

Roxas shook his head, gave his roommate the finger, and walked out.

--

Right before 6541 Late Sunday Drive hit the main drag, three addresses down from the condo with a couch and a lawn chair on its roof, a deceptively small house with ocean-battered chipping blue paint sat partially obscured by an equally tortured fence, a cardboard replica of the Bolivian flag hanging crookedly beside the mailbox on the fence. Since the noise ordinance instated during Roxas' freshman year had passed, 6541 Late Sunday Drive, also known as Little Vista, had been cited for "excessive merriment" no less than three hundred times, with seven fines of 3,000 dollars for providing alcohol to minors. While only four students could truly call Little Vista "home," an ever-revolving group of hangers-on used the term with just as much frequency. "Home" to music snobs, book nerds, indie fucks, art studio kids, and smart potheads, Little Vista was a safe haven to many. Roxas, on the other hand…

When Zexion first started hanging out at Little Vista during sophomore year, he'd invited Roxas over right at the start of first quarter midterms. The week passed in a haze of smoke, and when his exams came back, he'd punched Zexion in the face and marched straight over to Vista and smoked three bowls. He'd felt higher than the moon, his handful of "D"s little more than funny shapes on pointless pieces of paper. When he came down he'd started nursing a bottle of SKYY and a liter of Ocean Spray until Zexion came and hauled him back to the dorm where he sat fully clothed in a shower, throwing up intermittently. Needless to say, Roxas had done his best to keep his time at Little Vista to a minimum.

The ragtag bunch of kids that actually lived at Little Vista were surprisingly diverse. You had Pence, a chubby people person kind of guy who smoked a lot of pot, dubbed "King of the Town" because he seemed to know everybody. There was Olette, a smart Literature major with a penchant for puns and indie rock. Kairi, Olette's best friend, who was always mysteriously upbeat and, coincidentally, from Roxas' hometown. They'd never hung out much, but she was always more of Sora's friend than Roxas'. Then there was Hayner, second son of some hotshot movie director, who was friendly as fuck when high, but reclusive when sober. Hayner paid to have the entire garage renovated with hardwood floors and freakishly complex looking turntables that Roxas had been warned never to touch. The first time he'd seen them was when Zexion had dragged him by the arm into Hayner's little studio where the kid was spinning beats, frying balls on some acid he'd copped from an ex-boyfriend. Hayner had bobbed to the music, fingers manipulating keys, his eyes on Roxas', licking his lips suggestively.

Roxas had only found himself alone with Hayner on two occasions. Once was at the start of a party at Little Vista, Hayner working on his first screwdriver. Roxas, standing in the kitchen and observing Kairi attempt a batch of hash brownies, remarked that he didn't like reggae, and Hayner had taken some sort of personal offense. He'd marched out of the kitchen in exaggerated incredulous shock and quickly marched back in, determined to find out why.

"Do you like soul?" Hayner had asked, eyes staring unnervingly at Roxas.

"Umm, I guess." Roxas had muttered, wondering what the fuck might be classified as soul, and embarrassed to show his lack of "arty fuck" credibility.

"Listen to reggae like you listen to soul." Hayner had said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do, like everyone in the world already did it. Roxas played it cool and no one knew he felt humiliated. The second time he'd been alone with Hayner was when Zexion stumbled to the bathroom through a pot-induced haze and Hayner slid close to Roxas, eyes dilated to the size of marbles. He'd placed his hand over Roxas' crotch and started rubbing without hesitation. He'd stopped when the bathroom door opened, but Hayner's eyes stayed on Roxas the rest of the night, silent, the famished smile never leaving his face.

This is probably why, among a universe of variables, Hayner jumped up enthusiastically when Roxas walked—well, was pushed by Zexion—in the front door of Little Vista that first week of junior year, the September air surprisingly bitter in the fading light of the afternoon.

"Roxas!" It was a collective cheer punctuated by Hayner's hasty rise and stumble to give Roxas a hug.

"Where the fuck you been, Rox?" Hayner slurred against his ear. He was clearly drunk and probably high.

"Uh, summer break?" Roxas offered, patting Hayner's back lightly. The room burst into raucous laughter and Roxas smelled the stench of weed in the air.

"No shit, man," Hayner said, arms still sloppily around Roxas' shoulders, Zexion smirking his ass off to the right, sidestepping an Xbox console and reaching for the bong sitting on a foldaway table littered with baggies and lighters. "I mean _before_ that, dude."

"Just studying and stuff. Just stuff, y'know," Roxas said vaguely, lightly pushing Hayner away at the hips. Laughing lightly in his ear, Hayner pulled him at the wrist and they fell onto an empty couch, Roxas almost in the other blonde's lap.

"Gimme," Hayner said, twitching his finger at Zexion who was taking his second massive rip.

"Whose idea was the ice?" Zexion asked through an exhale, smoke pouring from his mouth like a furnace. A column of ice cubes sat in the neck of the bong, filtering the smoke before it reached the mouth. "It's fucking _genius_."

"That'd be me," Pence said, pointing one finger in the air. Roxas noticed the T.V. was on, everyone more or less glued to a re-run of _Lost_. "Resident genius, right here."

Roxas, already feeling slightly out of it, felt Hayner tap his shoulder. He turned to face him and he noticed how Hayner's wide brown eyes were glazed, lowered and awash with red. He tapped his mouth and then tapped Roxas'. Roxas squinted at him uncertainly. _He wants to make out? What the fuck?_ Then Hayner ran the pad of his thumb over Roxas' lips. They parted almost involuntarily and Hayner leaned forward, exhaling a cloud of smoke into Roxas' mouth. He hadn't planned on smoking, there were those last three pages of _A Winter's Tale_, after all, but he pushed everything out of his mind and inhaled deeply. As the last of the smoke trailed out of Hayner's mouth, he felt the touch of the other boy's tongue run along the roof of his mouth. _Don't think_, he told himself. Hayner slid a hand to his neck and began tracing designs there, fingers drawing a sigh Roxas felt originate in the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes and leaned in to the other boy. _Don't think_.

--

Roxas came to on the beach, the moon high over head and lighting up the dark expanse of water crashing in front of him. Rubbing at his eyes, he had the impression that Hayner suggested they all go down to the beach. He remembered walking down the beach access steps with Hayner guiding him, hand on his ass. He remembered drinking, remembered Hayner asking him to unzip his jeans. _Fuck_, Roxas sighed. His memories sharpened as he remembered shoving Hayner away, and Hayner calling him a cocktease before making out with that kid, Tidus. _Tidus from home_, Roxas recalled. _Fuck_. His eyes focused on a group of people to his right, light conversation tugging his brain back into consciousness. He registered that Zexion hadn't ditched him, that he was talking animatedly with some other kid from the dorms, Demyx, and drinking. Other people Roxas couldn't distinguish talked in low tones, a light warble punctuated here and there by laughter. Hayner and Tidus were nowhere in sight. _Why the fuck am I sitting over here alone_? Roxas wondered, his thoughts spiraling away as he fell back into the deep trench he'd momentarily crawled from. Laying back on the sand he began to blink, each blink feeling like waking up from the depths of a drugged void. _How many hits did I take?_ Waking up again. Each new strain of conversation was like waking up. _Fuck._ Waking up again. He heard Demyx laugh loudly, bright reckless laughter, and Roxas was slammed by the force of Sora's memory. Sora, who laughed with the same uncaring abandon. _Sora_. Waking up again. _Fuck_.

His hands swirled in the sand, the grains of it dragging something up from the recesses of his memory. Eyes closed, he ground the sand between his thumb and forefinger, the sensation pulling at the lost memory more insistently, urging it from somewhere just out of sight. A flood of silver rushed into him, a half-articulated image dancing across the backs of his eyes, and he moaned lightly.

"_You're nothing like him." A feathery kiss against his neck, tongue tracing a jugular. Hands stroking up his sides, feeling out his ribs with calloused fingers._

Roxas ground the sand hard, the grit scraping audibly against his skin, and a moan tore itself from his chest. _Don't think_. He was semi-erect in his jeans, hips twitching in the sand as little scoops of it dipped in behind the small of his back and sifted down into his briefs.

"_You smell so good." Hot breath in his ear, chills erupting over the skin of his neck where the warmth of his voice floated. Sand against his back, the scent of dust laying over a fusion of cigarettes and coffee. And those hands…_

"Rox." The voice sounded as concerned as much as any drunken roommate's voice could sound concerned. Roxas settled against the ground, the sand between his fingers dropping away.

"Mmm," he managed, shifting his hips slightly. This, it turned out, was an honest mistake. Still semi-erect, still horrifically stoned, a breathy moan escaped him as he brushed the fly of his jeans. The voice burst out into what should have been impossibly loud laughter.

"HOLY SHIT, ROXAS!" Hands grabbed him at the shoulders and his eyes fluttered open. "You're horny! You're horny, you little bastard! And you're having sex with," Zexion's eyes shot down to the front of Roxas' jeans, "YOURSELF! AND THE AIR!"

"You're… drunk," he said, and he found the effort required to speak funny. He giggled.

"Yes! Yes I am! And you, my friend, are _fucked up_!" Zexion hauled him to his feet and they wobbled unsteadily, Zexion's arm slung around his ribcage and gripping at his side. He was always touchy feely when he was drunk, as if alcohol imparted, instead of liquid courage, a sort of liquid compassion otherwise lacking in the other boy. "Demyx got this new roommate, man. Xiggy totally transferred out to go to State or some shit." He half-supported and half-dragged Roxas to the group of other kids, and Roxas wondered at the liquid compassion, wondered what parts it dissolved or what parts it heightened.

"I love you, man," he said suddenly. He anticipated some sort of stiffening, some sort of embarrassing regret, but instead the dull blade of clarity jabbed at him. Zexion only laughed.

"Yeah, Roxas. I love you, too." Zexion pressed his lips against Roxas' cheek, cheap beer drifting off him and on to Roxas' skin. "When'd you get so gay, huh?" he asked, playfully yanking Roxas up against him as they stumbled closer to the group of other kids. Roxas decided the liquid compassion dissolved things in Zexion. It dissolved walls: ornate marble behemoths rising like Grecian protectors over a past broken or a heart wounded. It dissolved a hasty intellect fashioned out of barbs and rapiers, cutting to keep things at bay. Two years and they never told stories, never told secrets. There'd been some sort of unspoken agreement between them, some understanding the first day they met as freshmen when Zexion stalked in and found Roxas sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged on the floor, crying. They'd understood then that there were things that tied them together; little knots of painful ribbon that they shared and never prodded at for fear of tightening.

"Just wanted to say it," Roxas mumbled, thoughts tugged away by tendrils of tetrahydrocannabinol like visible darkness tugging children out of a sandbox, luring them away with a promise of something sweet. A can was pressed to Roxas' mouth.

"Drink." His eyes, closed again for some reason, rose to the face attached to the hand attached to the can attached to his mouth. He had red hair.

"You—" he began.

"Drink up, kid," the redhead said, eyes tilting up at the corners in a smile that didn't reach his mouth. Roxas noted the strange markings under the redhead's unsettling green eyes and obediently took the can and tipped it into his mouth. He kept his eyes on the redhead's as he drained the can of slightly warm salty piss also known as "natty light." Shaking the upended can above his mouth, eyes still locked with the now grinning redhead, Roxas faintly wondered what the fuck he was doing. There was light applause as he tossed the emptied can on the ground, its crushed carcass joining a steadily growing pile inside, randomly, a brown shipping box. "I'm almost impressed," the redhead said. Roxas was aware they were the only two standing.

"You—you're a mind reader," Roxas said stupidly. Somewhere to his left Zexion burst into obscene laughter.

"Right, right. A _mind reader_," the redhead said, something feral in his grin. "I guess some people might call it that." Roxas watched at the redhead's teeth pulled his bottom lip almost imperceptibly into his mouth, slicking it with spit. _Holy shit_. "The name's Axel." Axel didn't offer a hand, and Roxas fought off the inane desire to bow his head in greeting. _What the fuck_. He stared stupidly as Demyx and others joined in Zexion's laughter. "And you're Roxas, right?" Amusement colored Axel's features, and Roxas debated swearing off pot forever.

"Yeah, he's Roxas," Zexion said, voice still light with laughter. "Please forgive his hilarious manners. He's a little high."

"A little?" Axel asked, grin widening. "The kid is completely _fucked_."

"Mmm notta kid," Roxas managed, reaching for two cans of proffered natty light in Zexion's hands. He passed one to Axel and sat heavily on the ground, the forgotten sand in his briefs digging into his ass. _Fuck_. Axel shrugged and took a seat next to him, the group's attention shifting away from Roxas and breaking off into conversations. Someone had started a small bonfire, and Roxas drank his beer slowly while staring across the circle at Zexion, the fire coloring him and Demyx as they laughed. Roxas had the impression that he'd realized some truth about Zexion, something important. Smokey threads wove into his thoughts and he was tugged away again, eyes watching the dancing flames. He'd forgotten Axel was beside him until he snapped his fingers before Roxas' face.

"Hey. Stare like that and your eyes are gunna dry up." His hand moved to Roxas' eyes and pressed the lids down lightly. His eyes stung. Axel pulled his hand away and Roxas looked up at him. He was leaned back on one hand, legs stretched out and crossed, a hand coaxing the dregs out of a can and into his mouth. His body was inclined, slight but obvious, toward Roxas. Tossing his can with the pile, Axel turned his head and stared. Roxas thought he should look away, or should at least blink again, but he was being tugged away by something insistent, a little puppy tugging him at the wrist toward a small rattle in a rose bush. "Man, I gotta get the number of your dealer, kid," Axel said, his eyes tilting up in that smile that didn't reach his mouth.

Roxas wanted to ask what his major was, ask what the Global Community dorm was like. He wanted to ask if he was a hippie or a vegan because he knew his accent wasn't foreign. He wanted to ask, really badly as if someone sitting inside his brain asked specifically, if he liked chocolate chip cookies. He wanted to ask what the marks, clearly tattoos, were under his cheeks, wanted to ask if they hurt. He felt the unspeakable need to know whether or not Axel used mouthwash and what brand, and he was going to ask it, mouth already open, when the redhead stood and walked over to Demyx who was still talking with Zexion, picked him up by the shoulder, and began dragging him wordlessly to the beach access stairs. _Oh_, he registered. _Demyx's new roommate_. He dragged himself across the sand to Zexion, his roommate's gaze ruminative on the quickly fading fire.

"That guy's a douchebag," Zexion said thoughtfully, swirling a nearly empty can of beer. "He just grabbed Dem, who I was _clearly_ engaged in conversation with, and dragged him off into the night." He downed the last of his beer, tossing his can over to the kids who were packing up stragglers in the shipping box. "He's probably a rapist. He's, like, _twenty fucking three_, Rox. What's he even doing here?" _So he's 23. A 23 year-old junior. Nothing wrong with that. Zex is 20. Three years, big deal. 23 minus 19 is like… cross out the two and borrow, and that makes thirteen. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen… fourteen years! No. Four years! That's only one college education between us!_

"That's not a rape!" he shouted stupidly, as if all his brain cells were collectively led off a short pier by a pied piper reeking of marijuana.

"Wow, Rox. You're really pushing the boundaries of human comprehension with that one." Zexion stood and kicked sand into the embers of the bonfire, the rest of the kids slowly drifting off to their respective residences. "Let's get you home."

--

The first strains of his CD player going off, the alarm set at 8:00am, sent bright surges of panic into his veins, and he jolted awake. Jeans half on, Roxas realized it was Saturday. He groaned loudly and rubbed his head. He hadn't drunken enough to get a hangover, but he felt like shit anyway. His mind conjured up the image of tasteless rubbery dining common eggs and his stomach heaved in revolt. Maybe they'd have waffles. The waffles were always good.

So that's when, amid his breakfast swoon, Zexion walked in, fresh from a shower, and observed Roxas standing slightly hunched, jeans half-up his legs, eyes screwed up in Belgian waffley bliss. Zexion regarded his roommate silently, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. When Roxas showed no sign of emerging from his frozen… well, _erotic_ stance—it's not like thought bubbles with waffles and hearts floated out of Roxas' head—Zexion spoke up.

"So you're still baked, huh? I hate when that happens." Roxas jerked and stumbled forward, tripping over his jeans.

"Sorry. I was… thinking," Roxas fumbled. _About waffles_. _Fluffy, delicious. Unnnf._

"I do most of _my_ thinking with pants on," Zexion offered, draping his towel off the top of his bunk. "Are you hungover? Because I'm hungover. I need a phat bowl, and I need one now."

"Uhhh."

"Not this again, Roxas. Hair of the dog, my dear roommate. You're not studying on a Saturday morning."

"But… _waffles_." Zexion was impressed at Roxas' pouty face.

"You know the student workers jizz in the batter, right? It's why they're so scrumptious." Zexion smiled pleasantly at Roxas' rapidly draining color. The blonde tugged his jeans up and over his hips.

"I totally fucking hate you," Roxas growled, forgoing a shirt in favor of a black hoodie.

"Roxas, I'm touched." Zexion walked to the door and held it open. "I can see your dick, by the way," he deadpanned. Roxas let out a strangled yelp and clutched at the front of his ridiculously tight jeans. "I don't know why you wear those things."

"Why the fuck are you scoping my dick, Zex?" Roxas asked, adjusting himself and pulling his hoodie low over his waist.

"You parade your assets so willingly, Rox-_ass_, that I can't resist. I'm admirer of aesthetics. And you have a cute butt."

"FAG!" Roxas cried indignantly, storming past Zexion.

"Only for you, sweetheart."

They walked down the outdoor stairs and headed toward Little Vista in comfortable silence. Roxas was pleased the temperature had picked up a couple degrees, a sun-warmed breeze blowing lightly against his hood shrouded face.

"What do you remember about last night?" Zexion asked, voice light. He sounded cautious.

"I was fucked up," Roxas said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together for some forgotten reason. _Fuck._

"You know it's weird, right?" Zexion began, casting a long look at Roxas out of the corner of his eyes. "That you block out what you do when you're really high? You're the psych major, Rox. You tell me the term. 'Repression,' isn't it?"

"Uhhh, I guess. It's complicated." Roxas frowned at the floor, a hand reaching into his pocket for his pack of Parliaments. "I could remember if I wanted." He flipped open the top, eyeing the lucky warily. He needed a new pack. He'd hit the liquor store later if he worked up the motivation to walk the two miles to where his car was parked. Sighing, he pulled the lucky and tossed the empty pack into someone's open trashcan. He was vaguely aware that Zexion was still talking to him as he lit the cigarette, pulling hard at the nicotine. Already images of sand and silver, fire and red, were flooding his mind.

"But you'd rather not," Zexion said, finishing whatever concerned roommate spiel he thought was needed.

"Yeah. I'd rather not." The breeze blew Zexion's hair into his face and Roxas reached out and brushed it back behind the other boy's ear.

"What are you doing?" Zexion asked, his pace slowing to a halt, his eyes searching. Little Vista was another block away.

"Distracting you," Roxas admitted, something squirming tightly in his stomach. "Want a hit?"

Zexion stared at him for a long minute, eyes inscrutable and mouth drawn in a small quirk as he bit the inside of his bottom lip. Roxas thought of liquid compassion, but he had no idea where the thought came from. Zexion shrugged and plucked the cigarette from his fingers, not waiting for Roxas to catch up before he walked in through the front door of Little Vista. Roxas smelled the haze of pot before he even reached the porch.


	2. Chapter 2: Pirouettes

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine.

**A/N**: This story is killing me, but I'm trying to ignore that part to control the pacing and the style. Soon it won't matter any more and this will read like literal word vomit. Whatevs, that day is not today. Took me forever to get started on this one. The song mentioned is "The Summer Ends" by American Football. I'm in the middle of making an AkuRoku mix (which I might post a link to in a future chapter, for those inclined), and this song in particular works nicely into the story. The following is the MLA citation for the textbook sentence Roxas gets stuck on (pg 235):

Comer, Ronald J. Abnormal Psychology. New York: Worth, 2007.

There is like a deluge of dialogue in this chapter. I don't even pretend to know what's going on.

--

**Chapter Two: Pirouettes**

It is easy to see him as a convention. Everything about him—the blonde and the blue of him—is all very much expected. The angles of his face, the expanse of his lips, even the tint of his skin speaks to ideas of what it is to be beautiful; what it means to have the command of a room with presence alone, or how it sounds to have the whispers of three girls stifling adoring giggles over your shoulder in your Abnormal Psych class at one in the afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Roxas couldn't help being born with the exact amounts of charm and luck that would guarantee features on par with Renaissance masterworks, clichés be damned. No, he couldn't help it at all, which is why Zexion innocently suggested what he thought would be the perfect costume for the Halloween party at Little Vista.

"Put the wings on," the boy urged, holding up a cloying amalgamation of feathers and glitter. His eyes were red and glazed, and Roxas wondered when he'd last seen his roommate. It has been three days at least. He debated tearing the wings in half, but suspected Zexion's currently stoned state might result in tears, or worse, confusion. Because it is fine if his good looks are expected and disarming. It is fine because the unexpected of him—the brooding, the scathing replies, the unending disinterest—more than makes up for it.

"Fuck _off_." He was used to the "angel" comments, had received them both playfully and nastily most of his life, but Zexion had another thing coming if he thought Roxas would dress up as a fucking _angel_ with _glittering wings_ for Halloween. "I'll forgive you for this because you're high, but if you don't drop it, I swear to god I'll beat your ass."

"Touchy touchy, Roxie. They won't let you in without a costume." Zexion waved the wings ominously. "You _want_ them, Roxas. You _need_ these wings in your life."

"You sound delusional," Roxas huffed, shoving himself resolutely against the wall of their dorm, arms crossed. "I just won't go. I have this paper to re-write anyway."

"It's Halloween! Fuck your papers!" Zexion shouted, flapping the wings manically. "This!" Flap. "Is!" Flap flap. "For!" More of the same. "Your own GOOD!" Zexion thrust the wings down triumphantly, his bloodshot eyes bright with emotion. Or pot.

"Whatever, man. Yeah, I'll go, but I'm not wearing any fucking wings." Roxas pointed at a hoodie lying in a heap under his university-issued 3/4 inch birch desk. "I'll wear white. Okay?"

Zexion looked unconvinced, frowning at the piece of clothing. "What about glitter?"

"You _fuck!_" Roxas shouted, pleased at the flinch it elicited. Zexion raised his hands slowly in surrender.

"Okay, okay. Give a guy a heart attack, why don't you. _Fuck_. You need to _chillax_, Rox. Come and partake of the awesome wonder that is individually-wrapped bite-size candy and weed from Humboldt State."

"Uh, I don't smoke stress."

"Stress? What the fuck about stress, Rox? Hayner's brother is back in town and he brought back like fifty sacks of kush."

Roxas sighed. "Okay, yeah. Whatever. I can't keep up with your stoner geography. I'll just catch up with you guys later, okay? I seriously have to at least finish one chapter for Abnormal Psych."

Zexion shook his head and frowned. "Your call. If you show up late the party will probably move over to Naminé's. Demyx and his douchebagging roommate are already at Little V, and Demyx says you need to do this thing with him, so you _need_ to come. Okay?"

Roxas frowned. He really, _really_ didn't like that Naminé chick. She didn't live at Little Vista, but she was like their reigning queen of All that is Arty Bullshit. Everyone was constantly fawning over her apparently amazing poetry. She identified as a lesbian, but it didn't stop her from flirting with Hayner. _Ugh_. "Yeah, Zex, I said I'd be there. I'll be there." Roxas watched as Zexion swayed in the center of the room. "You can leave now."

Zexion chuckled and headed for the door. "So touchy today, Rox. Don't think I didn't hear your little screaming match on the phone last night." Roxas started to say something he'd probably regret, but the door clicked into place. _Bastard_, he fumed silently. He'd tried to keep his voice down in the third floor study room last night, but he'd gotten… carried away.

Sora had been calling every night at 9:01pm on the dot, spurred by Roxas' refusal to answer any of his e-mails. Mostly his punctuality had to do with the different service providers they had, but, seriously, 9:01pm _on the dot_? Every goddamn _night_? Roxas thumbed through the chapter on mood disorders, but his thoughts strayed to what Zexion rightly referred to as his shouting match with Sora. _I was just fed up. It was too much_. Roxas wasn't much for phones, but Sora could talk for hours and hours. As much as he liked to imagine he disliked it, he enjoyed the way the minutes would slide past as Sora related some small incident in epic detail, like dueling with popsicle sticks or pulling barnacles off the end of the pier. Sora's voice made it all come alive for Roxas, holed up in the study room, laying on the couch with his arm pillowed under his head and his feet jammed in between the cushions, cellphone pressed against his ear and a smile plastered all over his face. Only a hundred miles separated them, but sometimes Roxas swore Sora was a world away.

Roxas realized he'd read the same sentence five times. "Finally, depressed people experience automatic thoughts, a steady train of unpleasant thoughts that keep suggesting to them that they are inadequate and that their situation is hopeless." _He talks about it all the time._ "Depressed people—" _Every day for weeks now._—"experience automatic thoughts—" _As if I fucking care_.—"a steady train"—_As if I'd even be interested_.—"of unpleasant thoughts"—_Except I am._—"that keep suggesting to them"—_I'm too interested._—"that they are inadequate"—_I'd say my hand down my pants while I'm on the phone with him is pretty fucking interested._—"and that their situation is hopeless." _Fuck._ Roxas stopped reading and wiped away the tears that had fallen on the page. For one agonizing second he debated walking to his car and just driving away, driving somewhere far, just somewhere _else_. Then he shoved his book on the floor and grabbed at the white hoodie under his desk, thrusting his arms angrily through the sleeves before storming out the door.

--

He flicked his dead cigarette down the driveway and walked up the steps of Little Vista's front porch. He debated knocking, decided that they wouldn't hear him since the party appeared to be in the backyard, and he made to open the front door when it was suddenly yanked open in front of him.

"You," he said, and he wondered if it was too surprised sounding. Demyx's roommate, Axel, stood before him, no costume, with a faintly panicked expression.

"Hello to you, too, sweetheart." He grabbed Roxas by the hand and tugged him back down the stairs. "We're leaving, by the way."

"Uh, I'm supposed to be at the party," Roxas said, mystified.

"Yeah, yeah. We'll come right back. Right now I need not to be here, and you're a great alibi."

"What'd you do? Set the kitchen on fire?"

"No, but I'll try that one next time. I knocked over the fucking bong, man. They're gunna kill me."

"Shouldn't you, y'know, like, clean it up?"

Axel halted and studied him appraisingly. "Do you know how impossible it is to clean that shit up?" Roxas stared at him blankly. "You're a bad pothead, kid. I tossed some baking soda on it. It needs to dry up before anything else can be done about it, and I'd rather no one know it was me." Axel started walking again, headed towards the beach access steps. Turning back to Roxas briefly he asked, "We good?"

"Yeah."

"Well let's _go_, then, man." Roxas shrugged and fell into step beside the other boy, figuring Zexion wouldn't be expecting him to show up for at least another hour. "Nice costume, by the way. Kinda understated, but I can get into it. Missing wings though, right?" Axel's finger traced an outline against Roxas' back.

"Yeah," he whispered involuntarily, flushing at the slightly strangled sound his voice made. He was glad his hood was up. _Fuck, why can't I just be normal for like two seconds?_

"Sorry," Axel said, dropping his hand. "I'm like… I'm _really_ high right now."

"Oh," Roxas frowned. "Are you sure you don't want to just stay around Vista? I'm not much of a trip sitter. As in, like, I don't know what to do if you, I dunno, like—"

"Whoa, can you chill the fuck out? I'm not going to have a seizure or anything; it's just pot. I'm fucked up, and you're making me paranoid." They walked down the beach access stairs, the sand gleaming under a full moon. Roxas suppressed the insane desire to howl at it. He wondered what time it was.

"So, what's your name again?" Axel asked, sitting roughly on the sand.

"Uh, Roxas." Roxas wondered if he should sit in front of him or beside him, and how close. Axel laughed lightly and pulled him down unceremoniously beside him.

"Well, _Roxas_, thanks for coming with me. Are you high? Because you're acting pretty high."

"I'm just… tired?"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yeah. Whatever." Eyes darting sideways, Roxas realized that Axel was wearing a paper Burger King crown, titled at an arrogant angle over his outrageously bright hair. "Nice hat."

"You like it, right?" Axel smirked broadly, flicking a fake paper jewel with a finger. "It was a birthday present."

There are these awkward moments in conversations with relative strangers, moments where something that has just been said warrants some sort of apology, as if you had any idea that it had happened. Example: "My mother actually just died." Oh, sorry. Or, "I never really learned how to ride a bike because my father was hit by a car and killed while he was riding one when I was twelve." Awkward moments. This was one of them.

"Oh. Sorry. Happy Birthday." Roxas fidgeted next to Axel, wondering if it would stupid to offer him a cigarette as a birthday gift.

"Nah, it's not today. Last week. The kids at Vista wanted to do a little something. Since I'm the new guy, and all."

"So… Happy Belated Birthday, I guess. How old did you turn?"

Axel gave a short bark of laughter. "I'm like old, dude. I'm 24."

For some reason Roxas' mind immediately thought, _Not_ _rape!_, and he couldn't figure out why. "That's not old."

"Yeah, well, tell that to my mom. She's all stuck on the idea that I'm 24 and a junior in college." He laughed again; a short, bitter, laugh. "Got stuck in a JC for a couple extra years. No biggie. Just fuckin' around."

"That… uh, sucks." Roxas offered, feeling stupider by the second. He was never good with people he didn't know well, often relying on Sora's relentless optimism to do the talking, otherwise falling back on whatever alcohol was present in his system, which, at this moment, was none at all. "I need a drink."

Axel brightened and reached into his back pocket. "Lucky for you, I'm quite the deviant." He pulled out a small silver flask and uncapped it, taking a long sip before handing it to Roxas. "Its Ketel One, so cherish it." Roxas brought the flask to his mouth and took a sip, felt the lukewarm liquid slide and burn only marginally down his throat. He noticed Axel watching him. He handed the flask back, felt the swell of uncomfortable silence between them, and wondered if he could ask for another sip.

"So—don't hate me—what's your name again? I don't have a memory problem or anything, I'm just not used to having to remember people's names. Usually it's just… haha, uh," he wiped his hands and spread them in the air, "pretty clean."

"It's Roxas." _Pretty clean? Like…_

"Right. Roxas. Yeah, I just don't get into the habit of remembering names when…" he drifted off, eyes on the waves in front of them, licking his lips. "I mentioned that I was high, right? I'm so fucked up right now, I don't know what I'm doing."

"You don't… look very high."

"Thanks? I think? It comes with experience." He turned his focus back on Roxas. "So you gunna take your pants off?"

Roxas was sure his heart stopped beating. "Um, sorry. What?"

"Your pants," Axel said, eyes suddenly very green in the moonlight. "Are you taking them off?"

"I'm… I'm not…" Roxas forced out, his mouth like a desert, his hands dripping oceans.

"Ohhhh, shit," Axel said, leaning back. "You're not fucking _gay_? I could've fucking sworn, man. I mean, my gaydar is never wrong." He stared at Roxas hard. "Like, _never_."

Roxas opened his mouth to respond when his cell went off and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd never been more grateful for Sora's punctuality. "Sorry. Could you just—just hold that thought for a second." He connected to the call and pressed the phone to his ear, hoping his heart would stop pounding so loudly. "Hey."

"…"

"Uh, Sora?"

"…_I didn't think you would pick up._"

"Listen, about last night. I'm really sorry, man."

"_You think you can just apologize and make it okay again, Roxas? I don't even know why I'm calling you. He said I should just leave you alone."_

Roxas felt time draw to a shuddering halt. "He—he said that? He said that?"

"_Well, yeah, Rox. What did you think he'd say?_"

"Sora," Roxas said, voice strained, "_why_ would you tell him what I said?"

"_Why? Why not?! It was about him, and—_"

"Sora, don't yell."

"_Why are you so mean to me, Roxas? WHY? He wants to know, too._"

Roxas swallowed, a lump hard in his throat, and he was aware of Axel actively trying not to stare at him. "Is—is he there now?"

"_Why? You want to tell him he's an asshole personally?_"

Roxas choked on the lump as is squeezed tears from his eyes. "No, no. That's—that's okay. I'm sorry, Sora. I'm really sorry."

"…_Don't cry._"

In a lot of ways it was like select reverse psychology. Where Sora would say, "Don't cry," Roxas would instantly burst into tears. The response, learned from years of Sora's comfort and patience, was not something Roxas could unlearn. Tears rolled with abandon down his face, and he didn't even have the sense of mind to walk away from Axel to embarrass himself in private.

"I'm _really_ sorry. Please, _please_ tell him I'm sorry."

"_Yeah, okay, Roxas. I'm just… frustrated. I'm trying really hard to be there for you, but you're so…_"

Roxas felt the phone ripped out of his hand. Before he could protest, Axel was speaking.

"Yeah, hi. Roxas has company right now." Pause. "Oh, I'm sure, I'm sure." Pause, Axel tapping a finger against the back of the phone. "Yeah, I'll let him know. Have a nice Halloween. Yup. Yeah, bye." Axel flipped the phone closed and tossed it into Roxas' lap. He fixed Roxas with a pointed look. "You can thank me for that later."

"Thank you? If I don't kill you first, I'll make sure to do that." Roxas wavered between disbelief and full-blown rage.

"That guy was giving you a hard fucking time even though you were apologizing, and you were gunna let him torture you over something you already fucking apologized for. I did you a _favor_, and you _are_ going to pay it back."

"Whatever, man." Roxas stood up, dusting the sand off his pants. Axel prompt yanked him back down.

"Like I said, the gaydar's never wrong." Roxas stopped struggling in Axel's grasp.

"Sora's _not_ my boyfriend," he snarled.

Axel was not swayed. "Right. And that lover's spat you just had didn't really happen, right?"

Roxas shoved against the redhead with every ounce of strength in his body, sending the other boy sprawling in the sand. "He's my _best_ fucking _friend_, okay, so shut the fuck up about it!"

Axel, surprised to find himself with a face full of sand, burst into hysterical laughter. Roxas scowled, scrambled to his feet, and headed for the stairs, determined to leave Axel laughing alone on the beach like a lunatic. Of course his hasty plan was thwarted when Axel caught up with him halfway back to Little Vista and clamped an arm across his shoulders.

"You're good company, kid."

"You're a fucking asshole," Roxas fumed.

"Well, I was going to suck your cock as an apology for the phone thing, but, golly gee, it sounds like you just want to be friends."

"I don't _have_ friends." Roxas slapped himself mentally. _I can't believe the shit this guy drives me to say._

"Admirable sentiment, Roxas, but I don't think that's the sort of thing you're supposed to admit."

"I meant I don't _need_ friends. I have friends. At home." They walked slowly up Little Vista's small driveway, almost like they were both stalling for time. Almost. Axel's mouth quirked.

"Sora, right? Some friend." Roxas shoved him hard and Axel chuckled. "By the way, mind telling me what that was about? The whole… crying thing?"

Roxas ground his teeth together. "It was nothing, seriously." Roxas reached a hand toward the door, but Axel tugged him back at the shoulders and spun him around.

"It was not nothing. You don't have to tell me, but don't lie to me." There was none of the characteristic smirk lying just under the lines of the boy's mouth, and Roxas felt exhausted.

"I can lie to whoever I want," Roxas said simply, not even having the grace to wince at how harsh it sounded. He didn't care what Axel thought. He was just some _guy_. Some guy he didn't even know, who couldn't even remember his fucking name, whose hands were on his shoulders. Axel's eyes stared into his, blinking slowly, silence between them while the party thumped noisily just a few feet away.

"I hate my mom," Axel began. Roxas squinted at the other boy. _What… the fuck?_ "I've hated her since I was four. I remember being four, a little four year old brat, and hating the shit out of her. I went into her desk one day and pulled out her box of thumbtacks. I placed all seventy-three on her bed, sharp points up. I hated her, and I wanted to hurt her. She got into bed that night and screamed. I was the only one who could've done it, and I didn't deny it when she came into my room and demanded the truth. That was the first time she took me to a psychologist."

Axel's eyes were unreadable under the overhang of the porch, and Roxas wished the moon were just a little bit brighter. _Why is he telling me this?_ Roxas felt one of Axel's hands slide up from his shoulder, up against his neck, to the curve of his cheekbone. It stroked one long touch there and went back to his shoulder.

"Okay, Roxas?" Roxas didn't respond, his mind screaming at him to pull away, to punch and kick and scream. "So no lies, okay?" Axel's expression didn't change; a blank slate void of emotion, intensity only in his eyes. Roxas felt sure in that moment that nothing made sense any more, that everything he knew was wrong.

"Okay," he whispered, the word sounding more certain than he thought he was capable of.

A smile spread over Axel's face, the kind you can't help, and he dropped his arms from Roxas' shoulders. He pulled the front door open. "Let's get drunk."

--

Roxas was on this fifth—_sixth?_—shot of Popov, referred to at Little Vista as "the devil's semen," and Sora's angry voice only nudged at his buzzed consciousness half-heartedly. Pence had been Febrezing the shit out of the carpet where "some dirty motherfucker" had knocked over the bong when Axel and Roxas walked in, Axel immediately joining Pence in cursing the "stupid stoner bastard" who skipped out on the blame. The party had wound down considerably; about half of the fifty or so kids decided to move the festivities to Naminé's before the noise ordinance at midnight. A couple kids, including one noisy Tidus dressed as a goblin, were rolling in the backyard and passing around a Vicks inhaler. To escape the smothering scent of Febreze, several of them were bunched in Hayner's garage, obediently keeping their hands off his turntables while he lined up shots on the floor and Demyx played guitar on the bed.

Roxas was only mildly annoyed that, after his fourth shot, Zexion had manipulated him into donning the glittery angel wings. As soon as they were on, Olette and Kairi, both dressed as sailors, issued twin peals of delight—"Soooo cute!"—much to Roxas' chagrin. Inevitably, any time a group of males witnessed a female comment on Roxas' admittedly pleasing features, it was followed by suggestions to "totally tap that, man." Even Axel contributed, noting that Roxas could focus in on Kairi's red hair and think of him. It was all Roxas could do not to dissolve into a puddle of alarm and terribly cheap vodka.

Roxas took his sixth—_eighth?_—shot when Demyx stopped strumming and looked over to where Roxas sat, between a random kid dressed as a banana who was definitely stuck in a k-hole and Zexion, wearing his traditional black on black with the added effects of a cape and, hilariously, a Phantom of the Opera mask.

"Roxas is going to help me out with the next song," Demyx said, accepting a shot and a peck on the cheek from his girlfriend—a frail, birdlike brunette that Roxas remembered always smelled like rosewater.

Axel, sitting behind him, nudged Roxas with his knee. "Didn't know you could play guitar."

Roxas sent an elbow in the redhead's general direction, contacting only air. "Yeah, well, you don't know lots of things about me. And I can't. Play guitar, I can't. I mean I _can_, but not really, and I'm _drunk_. But that's not… and I'm not doing it Dem, forget it." He didn't think he was slurring his words, but he knew there was a good possibility that he actually was.

"Come on, Roxas! I really need you on this one!" The kids in the room all looked towards Roxas, Zexion chuckling thickly beside him.

"I don't get it. What? Are you going to like suck his dick while he plays?" Axel was completely shameless, Roxas realized. Completely. Demyx's girlfriend, sitting beside Axel, punched him in the ribs. "Well, what! Seriously, are you going to play the bass or something?" Hayner had a collection of instruments in his garage, though he played none of them. He referred to them as "art."

"He can _sing_, you idiot," Zexion said. For as much as he claimed to believe Axel was merely "Demyx's douchebagging roommate," the two got on fairly well. At least, when Roxas noticed Axel rub up against Zexion on his way to the bathroom and Zexion flushed crimson, it seemed like they got on well enough.

"Can, but won't," Roxas chimed in.

"Oh, come _on_, Roxas. I got you to a party, I got you in those gorgeous wings, and you're two seconds away from having free pick from any of these lovely ladies if you'd just grace us with your ample gifts." Despite smoking several bowls over the course of the evening, Zexion was still remarkably coherent, probably something to do with the RedBull he'd been chasing his vodka with. _Lightweight_.

"You're going to pay me for this in a pound of flesh. You know that, right?" Roxas said, rising unsteadily to join Demyx at the edge of Hayner's bed. There was mild applause, and Roxas wondered if he'd feel nervous if he was sober. The last time he'd sung before an audience was…

"So, how does 'Summer' sound?" Demyx asked, picking the first few notes of the song. It sent a wave of heat down Roxas' body.

"Um, I dunno, Dem. It's been awhile." Demyx continued picking the intro of the song, and Roxas could tell this would be a bad idea, each note calling up goosebumps over his skin. "Maybe something happier?"

"Come _on_, Rox!" Zexion shouted. "Give us your emo passion!" There was a twitter among the females, and Roxas was sure this would be a bad idea.

"What do you say, Rox?" Demyx asked, starting the song over. "Just like freshman year."

Roxas bit his lip, knew he wouldn't be in this position if he was sober, and debated swearing off alcohol forever. He nodded, turning to face the small group of kids. Hayner passed him a shot, fingers lingering, and Roxas tossed it back in one swift motion.

"This song is called 'The Summer Ends.'" Roxas knew he had the habit of closing his eyes when he sang, so he picked a spot on the floor right in front of the random banana kid and focused on it, letting the gentle strains of Demyx's picking sweep into him and lead him away. He came in on his cue, voice low but steady, and the world fell away.

Freshman year found Zexion and Roxas across the hall from Demyx and Xigbar in the underclassmen dorms. By some small twist of fate, Demyx and Xigbar were both music majors, and Roxas, once hearing them play a song he knew across the hall, had started singing. Roxas hadn't realized his neighbors were no longer playing and were instead listening to him sing his heart out, eyes closed in the middle of his room. From then on he'd had weekly jam sessions with the two of them, Zexion often watching and suggesting new songs to cover. They'd played a few shows, and eventually Roxas' friends from home drove up to see them perform. That was the last show they'd ever played, the last time Roxas sung for a real audience.

Singing the same lyrics, a song he'd personally picked to cover, more than a year after an expanse of silence was a strange experience. The words came to him with practiced ease and the spot on the floor was the only thing in the world besides the twinkle of guitar to his right. The memory of warm breath floated down to him from an impossible height, the scent of cigarettes and coffee clouded with dust and elevation. He thought maybe he'd be able to get past the memories sitting just below the words, thought maybe one year was long enough to leave the ghost of emotion in the past, but he was wrong. Even now, even with distance and time, even now every single word reminded Roxas of _him_. Floods of silver dollars and tropical waters assailed his senses, the guitar swelling as his fingers remembered fret positions and twitched at his side.

Roxas wasn't aware the song was over, wasn't aware of the applause, until Demyx's arms were around him, stroking his back. He was sobbing. Zexion approached, clapping, and pulled Roxas into a hug.

"You still got it, man! Dry your fucking eyes, you emo bastard, because these chicks are about to cream themselves, man!" Leave it to a baked and drunken Zexion to make a mad dash toward the optimistic at any cost. Roxas, however, was still drowning in a memory that was overwhelmingly present. "Okay, okay, let's get you some air," Zexion said, helping Roxas to his feet. On their way out the door, Zexion folding his wings so he'd fit, Roxas thought he saw Axel staring at him with something like quiet awe.

--

"What _happened_ back there, Rox? You were like, 'Whoaaa, I'm an emo god of emo,' and then you really were because you were _bawling_. I mean, you still sounded good, just… sad." Zexion's eyes were completely unfocused, and Roxas miserably pleaded with unseen deities to magically make him sober. He was so much more _unstable_ when drunk; his anger was sharper, his melancholy heavier, and the vast nothing he hovered over seemed infinitely vaster.

"I just—just nothing," Roxas choked out, sniffling erratically and drawing in shaky breaths alternately. "I'm just drunk."

"He's lying," a voice said, almost bored, emerging from the garage. "Enjoy yourself a little more, Zex. I'll take him back to the dorms." Roxas looked up to the boy who came to stand beside him, but Axel wouldn't meet his eyes.

Zexion looked unconvinced. "How do I know you're not going to rape him in some dark alley?"

"Well, for starters there aren't any alleys around here. Second, I'm pretty fucking drunk, and I wouldn't be able to get it up if I tried." Axel tapped Zexion on the temple. "Not too bright, are you, Zex? I might suck him off, though. I'll let you know how it goes." Axel said, faux bright. Roxas vaguely registered that he did this a lot, this sarcastically chipper voice that made Roxas want to strangle him.

"I'm fucking serious, you douche. He's a _virgin_, okay—sorry, Rox—so you gotta keep your pedo paws to yourself." Zexion glared as much as anyone fucked up can properly glare, and Axel laughed.

"Right. 'Pedo paws.' That's a good one, except me and Angel Face Crooner over here are legal everywhere on the fucking _planet_."

"You're just saying that because you don't remember my name!" Roxas wailed miserably, startling the two other boys.

"Okay," Axel said slowly. "How about 'Roxas: The Angel Face Crooner; Simultaneously Getting Boys Hard and Girls Naked Since… shit, Since Five Minutes Ago.' That title good enough for you?" Zexion snorted and then coughed to cover his laugh and Roxas nodded, feeling the last shot of Popov hit him like a sledgehammer. "Look, I'll take him back to my room, and then you can pick him up when you drop Demyx off. Do not, I repeat, _do not_, let him go home with that bitch girlfriend of his." Axel paused for his command to sink in. Then, "We good?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Bitch girlfriend, got it. Rox, if he tries anything, beat him within an inch of his life… and then let me have the last inch."

"I'm touched at your show of confidence and solidarity. I'll make sure he comes _twice_."

Zexion rolled his eyes and gave Axel the finger before stalking back into the garage. Roxas swayed on his feet, wondering why, if Axel was as drunk and as stoned as he said he was, he wasn't falling over himself.

"You're so sober," he slurred, walking toward the loose board in the fence closing off Little Vista's backyard, determined to avoid the stench of Febreze at all costs.

"Actually I'm so fucked up I can hardly see straight. Like I said, experience. You need to be able to handle cops, right? So you learn to keep your head on straight. I never do more that what I can handle. Besides, I'm never this patient when I'm sober."

Roxas looked at the other boy, confused. "Am I—doing it wrong? We're just walking? How do you have to be _patient_?" _There is something I'm seriously not getting_, Roxas thought. He wondered if he was sober he'd be able to understand the subtext. _Probably not._

Axel's mouth quirked and he held the loose board aside so Roxas could step through. "I never pegged you for a singer."

"Never? You've known me, what? A total of six hours?"

"I'm good with people. Known a lot of them."

"Well, I'm not a lot of people. I'm Roxas."

"Hi, Roxas."

"Seriously, fuck you."

Axel chuckled. "You're not very friendly."

"I'm sorry, I just fought with my best friend, cried like _five fucking thousand _times today, and I can't get this… this _someone_ out of my head. I'm drunk and the only only ONLY thing I want right now is to be sober." _Or him. I just want him again_. "I'll apologize tomorrow."

"You can tell me you know," Axel said as they approached HPV, the telling scent of pot clinging around the open windows of the Crack House as they passed. "About your 'someone.' I can help. Good with people, and everything."

"It's… complicated," Roxas shrugged. "It's all done, anyway. Just chasing the past."

"If you're crying about her today, then it's the present for you even if it's the past for her."

_Her. Her. Her._ _Every-fucking-body in the world thinks I'm straight._ Roxas wondered if it was because he was nice to girls that everybody thought he was straight. He practically made out with Hayner the other day, but apparently Hayner didn't count? Too slutty? _Fuck_, Roxas thought.

"…or him," Axel said then, eyes ahead as they climbed the stairs to the third floor. He glanced at Roxas briefly, saw how the shorter boy had blanched, and added, "Or whatever. Whoever. Doesn't matter." Axel worked his keys in the door, soft murmurings of reggae sailing through the hallway. Axel led him to the second door on the right, and Roxas felt mildly jealous that he got a beach-side view while he and Zexion got a dining commons-side view.

"I don't feel like talking about it. I'll talk about anything else but this." Axel held open the door, flicking on the lights, and Roxas stepped in. Something about being in another person's dorm room is intensely personal. When a person's whole home is only half a room hardly bigger than a walk in closet, you can't help but notice how everything is uniquely flavored with that person. When Xigbar had been Demyx's roommate, musical equipment had been everywhere: pedals, picks, tuners, stands, cases—everything scattered in a somehow organized chaos. Now the room Demyx shared was very different. Demyx always had top bunk all two years Roxas had known him, and he only glanced casually at the half-made deep blue sheets hanging slightly off the top bed before his eyes drifted downward. He was surprised to find Axel's bed made perfectly, sheets a dazzling white that looked, rather than starchy and stiff, soft and slightly blurred like snow.

"Nice," he said without meaning to.

Axel gave a small smile, pulling open the mini-fridge Demyx's crappy T.V. rested on. "Thanks." The redhead's hand moved to the prehistoric looking dials on the television and flipped them with movements that looked like blind habit. CNN. "You need some water," Axel said, tossing Roxas a bottle. "Otherwise you're going to be hungover like hell tomorrow." Roxas gulped at the water noisily, guzzling it like someone dying of thirst. He opened his eyes, wondering how they'd gotten closed, and saw Axel staring at him, smirking.

"That may probably have been the most erotic rendition of 'drinking a bottle of water' I have ever witnessed."

Roxas scowled and tossed the empty bottle at him, which Axel caught deftly and rocketed back, deflecting it off of Roxas' shoulder expertly so it landed in the university-issued royal blue recycling bin. He meant to be angry, but Roxas knew very well his face was drawn up in astonishment.

"That was totally unplanned," Axel said, bursting into laughter. Roxas joined, feeling the alcohol in his bloodstream eat away at the nerves he hadn't acknowledged. Somewhere, under eight shots of Popov, he was nervous at being alone with Axel. Alone with Axel in Axel's room where his bed had beautiful, clean white sheets, where he had a mini-fridge full of water and no liquor, and where stacks and stacks of what appeared to be history books rose up under his bottom bunk.

"You—you're a History major?" Roxas asked, settling in a chair Axel pulled out for him while he sat on the edge of his bed.

"Trying to be," Axel said, gesturing toward his desk where an open book lay, a pen jammed impressively through the pages by its point so it stood straight in the air. "Not working out so hot right now. I had a little battle with the book over the American Revolution. As you can see, it lost." Roxas smiled, feeling the nerves rear up in him. He didn't know what to do with his hands. "So," Axel said, "you're a Music major?"

Roxas laughed shortly before answering. "No. I mean, I like to sing, but that's just… singing. I don't love it enough. I'm a Psych major."

Axel studied him thoughtfully. "Psych major?" Roxas nodded, noting happily that Axel's university-issued chair was just as rock-able as his was, the bottom beam slightly bowed. "Well, you know what that means, right?" Axel asked, shoving away from his bed and toward the fridge, taking out another bottle for Roxas.

"Yeah. I'm like… fucked up. I know the myth. 'Psychology is only appealing to crazy people.' It's pretty bullshit, really. But I'm actually a lot more interested in _social_ psych, anyway." Roxas sipped the water slowly and as un-erotically as possible.

"So… you _are_ fucked up?" Axel asked, eyes on Roxas. "I get the sense you're evading it."

"Well, no, I am, but… social psych is so much more interesting. The way people react to certain situations, why they do, it's… interesting." _Why are you lying to him? He said don't lie to him._

"…you did it again." Roxas wondered if his cheeks could burn any more than they currently were, wondered if he could stop biting his nails as Axel watched.

"Okay. Yeah. I am. Fucked up, I mean. Just a bunch of weird shit in the past. I don't—I don't think about it anymore."

"You and the past, huh?" Axel asked, leaning back against the wall. Roxas noticed he touched his sheets as little as possible. "You're just _full_ of secrets."

"Oh yeah? Mr. I Thumbtacked My Mom When I Was Four?"

Axel smiled, waving a hand dismissively. "Fodder. If you think that's bad, you should hear what I do on weekends."

"Will you tell me?" Roxas asked, seized by the sudden drunken desire to know exactly what Axel did with his weekends.

"Probably," Axel said, and Roxas was confused at the lack of teasing in it. Axel sounded… regretful? "You're sobering up way too fast. I need to ask you about all your deep dark secrets still," Axel said, shoulders against the wall, hands clasped over his waist.

"You want to trade sob stories? I barely know you. I've known Zex for two years—we fucking _live_ together—and he doesn't know anything. Nothing. And you think I'm just gunna spill it?"

"Yes," Axel said simply. "I bet you can guess why, too."

Roxas sighed and bit his lip, wishing he'd smoked on the way over. "I'm not playing if this is a game."

"I don't joke about shit like this. I'm already way too fucking impressed with you. Five hours ago I wanted to suck your cock, Roxas. I'm past it." While Axel's voice was light, playful, there was something serious just behind it. His eyes, impossibly green, were bright.

"Okay. Fine. I'll guess." Roxas studied Axel appraisingly from the loudness of his hair to the statements on his cheeks. He noted the angle of Axel's shoulders as he leaned against the wall, took stock of the way his eyes held nothing at all, showed none of his cards beyond the small amused smile at the corner of his mouth. "For you? Residential. I'm 97 percent sure."

Axel just stared back at him for a few moments before clapping. "I'm impressed. Seriously impressed. How long were you in?"

"Not long, but a couple different times. Four visits total. I forced my mom to take me out AMA the first two." Roxas shrugged, studying his hands. "Lost two months of my life. You?"

"Seven weeks short of two years."

Roxas thought the silence would swallow them up. _Almost two years. Holy shit_. "That sounds… intense."

"Yeah, it was pretty intense. Ran away a bunch of times, tried to run across the fucking freeway at one point. That was easily one of the stupider things I've done. Mostly I just ate with my hands a lot."

Roxas wanted to meet the other boy's eyes, but he couldn't. "Yeah," he managed. "Me too. Second time. I was stockpiling knives in my drawer and an orderly found them while I was in a lesson. I didn't find out they knew until we broke for lunch and I had to eat in a corner with my hands. Of all the fucking days to get a salad…"

Axel laughed, something just south of bitter. "See how easy it is? It feels like… home." Roxas nodded, head swimming. How many times had he traded stories just like this? How many? "It's probably bad for us," Axel admitted, "but I can do worse things to myself than talk about the past." Again Roxas heard the weird note of what sounded like regret in Axel's voice. He wondered if he really did want to know what the redhead did on weekends.

"Were you really going to suck my dick?" He didn't know what made him say it. Probably some misguided attempt to get Axel light and playful again.

Axel cleared his throat before answering. "Probably. I'd have let you put it wherever you wanted, to be honest. I'd probably let you do it now, too; would probably ask if I thought you'd do it." He cleared his throat again and Roxas felt his stomach squirm. "But I think it'd be nice to be friends with you."

"I think so, too," Roxas offered, frowning at how it came across, arrogantly.

"Good. Well… do you want to smoke some meth with me?" Axel asked suddenly, not looking at Roxas. At that exact moment a knock sounded at the door, Demyx's muffled voice saying that he was coming in and they'd better be dressed. Roxas wondered if maybe he'd heard wrong, but Axel would not meet his eyes and Demyx and Zexion were already in the room, flushed and stumbling.

"Virginity intact?" Zexion asked, dragging Roxas up. Roxas, still confused and slightly stunned, could only stare at Axel. The redhead was strangely interested in his clasped hands, as if they held the secrets of the universe.

"I—yeah—but," Roxas stammered.

"Great! Good to know you retain the powers of speech. Let's crash, shall we?" Zexion dragged him to the door, waving absently at Demyx. As Zexion dragged him across the breezeway to their dorm, Roxas reasoned that Axel wanted to smoke meth with him as some sort of twisted bonding. _But meth? I was thinking of sharing a fucking cigarette!_

"You okay?" Zexion asked as they stumbled into their room, Zexion groping madly alone the wall for the light switch as if someone had moved it while they were away. "You're acting kinda… not good."

"Sure, yeah. Just drunk."

"You don't sound very drunk."

Roxas smiled and thought of paper crowns. "Comes with experience."

"Oh, I'm sure, Mr. Eight Shots and Down For The Count." Zexion kicked off his shoes and scaled the side of their bunks, lifting himself nosily into his bed. "Take your fucking clothes off and hit the lights already, would you?"

Roxas flipped the lights off, figured out he was still wearing the damn angel wings before nearly tearing them off him, and stripped down to his briefs. He groped around for his sweats on the floor, wondering how he could ask Zexion his question without sounding anything more than curious.

"Zex?"

"Hrmf?"

"Ever smoke any meth?"

"Roxas, I swear to god, if that motherfucker got you turned on to tweak I will seriously cut his balls off."

"What? No! I'm just… Tidus was talking about it." Roxas crossed his fingers and hoped Zexion wouldn't remember this conversation in the morning.

"No. I haven't. I'm not about hard stuff, Rox, you know that. I know it's bad and it's brutal and only idiots get mixed up with it."

"Okay," Roxas said, determined not to worry about it, sliding between his sheets, cellphone in hand. He noticed he had a new message, probably Sora. "Night, Zex."

"Nnnffh."

Roxas smiled and navigated to his inbox. The name that popped up on the tiny screen made him gasp audibly, eliciting an annoyed bounce from Zexion. His fingers flew across the keys, opening the text.

_Who was that guy?_

That was it. The first time in two years Roxas had ever heard from him while he was away at Kingdom, and that was all he could say? _Who was that guy_? Roxas powered his phone off and threw it angrily across the room. He jammed his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. _I need a fucking cigarette_. Breathe in. _I need to fucking piss_. Breathe out. _I can't believe he has the nerve to text me at all, let alone text me that._ Breathe—fuck it. Roxas slid out of bed as quietly as possible and darted into the hall. One of the two floor bathrooms was directly across from his door, and he was glad it was empty. He pissed away eight shots of shitty vodka and two bottles of Axel's water, letting a couple tears drip in for good measure. _Two fucking years and that's all he can say_, he thought as he washed his hands, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. _If I'm so fucking good looking, if everyone thinks I'm so fucking gorgeous, then why doesn't he want me?_ Roxas slammed a fist down on the marble counter, marveling at how wonderful it hurt. _Why doesn't he want me?_

It was a long time before Roxas tore his eyes away from the mirror, his chronicle of the way his hair stubbornly shifted to one side, the way it seemed like one eye was bluer than the other, how his chin was too pointy, how his face naturally fell into a glower as opposed to a smile, and how his mouth was too small, and how, really, he was ugly. He was ugly, so it was no wonder he didn't want him. _So many things wrong_, Roxas thought as he slid into his covers, the sun already brightening the sky through the gaps in the curtain. A part of him was pleased with his discovery, disdainful of all the people who'd ever been too careless to look at him closely. Another part, infinitely smaller, sat mutely in a corner of his mind, carving a name over and over into the soft underside of his forearm.


	3. Chapter 3: Density

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine.

**A/N**: I made that AkuRoku mix I babbled about last chapter, including the song Roxas sang in his moment of emo glory. I write LB to a shortened version of this playlist. Nothing elaborate, just select songs that inexplicably remind me of the pairing (some from bands I don't even like, hah), but I think it coheres nicely. It's bundled in a .zip, and I tossed the lyrics in a .txt file. Links: [rapidshare . com/files/159751385/A_Lesser_Beauty_-_the_mix . zip . html], [mediafire . com/?kgntmlny1dd], or [megaupload . com/?d=JK6B9C7F]... and take out all the extra spaces because ffnet apparently hates links. Mostly rock: some old, some new, some impossible to find the way I wanted. Track listing (it should be listened to in this exact order) for those inclined:

1. The Dear Hunter – "Red Hands" (demo)

2. The Smashing Pumpkins – "The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning"

3. Neve – "Absent"

4. This Providence – "My Beautiful Rescue"

5. The Spill Canvas – "All Over You"

6. Acceptance – "So Contagious"

7. The Academy Is – "The Test"

8. After Midnight Project – "Take Me Home"

9. Brand New – "Me Vs. Maradona Vs. Elvis"

10. Paramore – "When It Rains"

11. Yellowcard – "Shadows and Regrets"

12. Matt Pond PA – "The Butcher"

13. American Football – "The Summer Ends"

14. The Killers – "Human"

15. Coldplay – "Death And All His Friends"

16. John Mayer – "In Your Atmosphere" (live)

17. Empires – "Hayley"

Anyway, I guess now is a good time to mention that when I say AkuRoku in the summary, I mean that it will _eventually_ be AkuRoku. I mean, it's already all there anyway, right? But there are also… ahem, _other_ pairings. Some of them are in the past, some of them are implied, and some of them don't know what the hell to make of themselves. Human interaction is a fragile and impossible thing. All I can say is the characters tell _me_ what to do, not the other way around.

This chapter is heavy on backstory, then later it gets a little imagistic, and then it gets out of control ridiculous. For the former I blame bleak, _bleak_ times, and for the latter I blame 2:33 in the morning. Keep an eye out for repetition that ties together themes that are otherwise unrepeated.

Also, I'd like to mention all the alerts I've been receiving: **THANK YOU** all so very very much. I don't need you to review. I'm just glad (read: relieved, ecstatic, humbled) that you're reading and interested in continuing to read this at all.

--

**Chapter Three: Density**

Some days are easier than others.

Roxas hadn't known about his problem at first, not in the way he knew his name or his address. It was something felt, not known, under his skin and in the pulse of his heart. Something different than blood type, heavier than the color of his eyes. As early as the age of ten—sitting alone in his backyard, plucking absently at blades of grass—he had felt this unknown thing in him, ratting at his bones like a thing imprisoned, the tyrant of his synapses. He felt it at eleven, walking down his street at 8:30pm on a Friday as he watched the passing traffic with something akin to lust. It sat at his bedside at twelve, whispered to him in his dreams, until he came to love it, gathering it in his failing arms. So at thirteen, on an unremarkable day in May, in love with the black and swallowing seduction of his little tyrant, Roxas tied a noose around his neck. His mother, working her way through a bottle of Pinot gris downstairs in the living room, heard the crash of his chair as he kicked it out from underneath his feet. Roxas was saved by his mother's annoyance. She'd come up to scold him for abusing the furniture.

Even years later the image of her only son, her good and quiet little boy not struggling at all as he hung by the neck and swayed lightly as if by an unfelt breeze, was something she found at the bottom of every bottle, no matter how deep. When Roxas' mother dialed 9-1-1 she thought they'd send an ambulance. Instead Roxas, throat raw and aching, found himself cuffed an insulted in the back of a squad car.

"You got a nice life here, and you want to go screw it up." The cop looked at him in the rear view mirror, voice dripping with antagonism. Roxas said nothing, could only wonder why he'd never known that the back of police cars had seats made of cold, hard plastic with recesses for his cuffed arms to fit behind him easily under the guise of comfort and convenience.

"You got your mommy working herself to death to give you everything you want. Room full of posters, all your little gadgets. And you want to go and throw it away." The cop scoffed, his eyes not leaving Roxas in the rear view mirror. "Spoiled is what you are." But Roxas knew these things. He knew how wasteful and pointless he was, how ungrateful and stubborn. He knew every word like his name and his address; things given and memorized. They didn't hurt any less, and he was too tired to hold back his tears.

"Oh, look at that," the cop said. "The big boy gunna cry now? Big boy not scared of death, gunna cry?" The cop started the car, laughing hollowly, perhaps a bit embarrassed. He hadn't meant to make the kid cry.

Roxas felt ashamed as they strip-searched him at the hospital, his wrists aching only slightly less than his throat. The nurse was silent, efficient. The whole of the adolescent wing of the psych ward at Oceanside Memorial functioned on the same muted structure. He made no friends during his 72-hour hold, though many asked his name and why he was in.

"What are you in for?" As if they were in prison, recounting crimes and sentences. Roxas looked no one in the eyes, took the pills they fed him, and spoke with their psychologists. He painted a ceramic statuette of the Virgin Mary. He ate with his hands. He wrote with crayon. He woke up every hour on the hour at night as the staff made their room checks. He found out what restraints felt like against his wrists and ankles, found out what the rush of sedatives felt like as they jabbed the tip of an impossibly long needle into his hip. He told no lies and kept no secrets. They took his shoelaces.

"Will you hurt yourself again?" Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. So they decided to send him to a short-term residential facility where he'd adjust to his new meds and learn to like to live again. Because he was "depressed."

Roxas scoffed at the term. _Everyone_ was depressed. Every thirteen year old who ever had a tough time "adjusting," who had a single parent, who had a bad day at school, who wanted to skip class to watch cartoons, who hid a bad report card. _Every_ kid was depressed. Roxas didn't understand why he was different, except maybe because he accepted the futility. At thirteen, accepting the blank and empty promise of the future, already resigned to whatever horrors or boredom his life could offer. This, the psychologists at Oceanside Memorial said, was not right. He had a mood disorder, they said. "Major Depressive Disorder." It was okay because he was _sick_. They would make him _better_.

He lasted three days at the Impact Youth residential facility. He screamed at his mother over the phone, begged and pleaded that he'd be good. She came and took him. Against medical advice, she came and took her good and quiet boy home. He swallowed her bottles of blood-pressure medicine and aspirin and vitamin E by the handfuls. Anything he could find, he dumped them all into his mouth and swallowed and swallowed. Passed out on the bathroom floor, vomit on his face and in his hair, his mother grabbed at him and drove him to the hospital herself. Recycle, rinse, repeat. She took him out two more times from Imapct, against medical advice, with the exact same results.

"Roxas, if you do this again, we're going to place you at Phoenix House. It is a long-term residential facility, and your mother will have no authority over your treatment. We're upping your dosage of Risperdal." And the part of him that didn't seethe with hatred, the part of him that didn't want to lose years of his life to this stupid circus, pressed a small button somewhere in his chest. In two weeks he was free of residential, no threat of Phoenix House hanging over his head as his mother drove him to his new school. The Angeles Institute, an elaborate name for a small and simple brick building with two doors and no windows that educated the fucked up youth of Roxas' sleepy oceanside town and any delinquent within a 30-mile radius. Fully-equipped with one psychiatrist, four psychologists, and a police task force on call, the Angeles Institute opened its shaky and scarred arms to Roxas. And in them he found Sora.

The only two eighth graders in a student population of thirty, including both middle and high school, Sora and Roxas shared a curriculum. They worked from the same books at the same time in the same place, but no one wondered why they didn't become fast friends. Roxas was Roxas: secretive, quiet, moody. Sora was Sora: insane, absolutely in_fucking_sane. Roxas thought it might be a joke, how he ended up in the same grade as the kid who wore huge yellow clown shoes and bright colors all the time. He though it was a joke, how the kid would rant and rave about how the world was broken, how monsters wanted to devour his heart. Sora carried around a collection of keys in his pockets—house keys, padlock keys, luggage keys—and Roxas often found him sitting in the Institute's courtyard, rambling quietly on the floor while battling himself with the keys like a young child with toys. When Roxas asked a psychologist one day, smug that at least he wasn't _that_ fucked up, they told him Delusional Disorder. Sora was delusional. Roxas envied him his total disregard for reality.

At fourteen, the first day of ninth grade at the Angeles Institute after knowing each other for nearly a year, Sora came to school like a completely different person. He greeted Roxas with a wave, mentioned being in residential over summer break and having his meds adjusted. Only on bad days did Sora ask to see "the king" and wonder where "Donald and Goofy" were anymore. With time Sora told Roxas everything about his other reality, but never once did Sora refer to anything as a "delusion." When he spoke of different worlds, of Heartless, Sora spoke as if it were all just another city. Just one step removed from where they were.

Roxas learned to smother the tyrant that still moped about his chest. Everyone was sad, he figured, and it was just harder for him sometimes. Some days he would wake up and not give a shit about anything. Some days, some weeks, he would find it hard to take an active interest in all the things he'd thought he loved. Sora would do his homework for him, would sleep over half the week, sharing a bed with Roxas. For weeks at a time, dark periods of absolute absence, Sora was the only one who kept Roxas from floating adrift.

"We're best friends, right?" Sora asked one day during tenth grade, slicing an apple in the center and handing a perfectly proportioned half to Roxas. They were fifteen, sitting against a wall during lunch, having just finished sharing a bowl of soup. People called them "the twins." Roxas ate his half of the apple with one hand, lazily flicking Sora's earlobe with the other.

"Yeah," Roxas said, surprised to find it was true, bowled over by how glad it made him.

First day of junior year, Sora and Roxas both sixteen, a new student came to the Angeles Institute. His name was Riku.

--

Some days are easier than others. Lying in bed fully clothed in the outfit he wore to yesterday's last final, this is what Roxas told himself. Some days are easier than others. He, like most of Kingdom University, spent last week, "Dead Week," cramming for finals at the end of the quarter. Roxas only ever considered himself an average student, but Dead Week and the week of finals he changed completely. He locked himself in the dorm, emerging only to go to class, use the bathroom, smoke with shaking hands, and eat in the dining commons. Mostly he ate alone, devouring hastily whatever was on the menu. Once he sat with Axel and Demyx, the redhead bending energy around him with all engines set to sarcasm.

"That's a good look for you, Roxas," he'd said, shoving string beans around his plate. Axel's pupils had been the size of blackened dimes. Roxas hadn't said anything. "I mean, the whole 'living dead' thing. I hear it's in this week." Roxas shrugged, picked up his tray, and walked away. He'd seen Axel a couple times since Halloween night, but it's not like he was going to go out of his way to hang with a guy who was clearly intent on making his life just _that much more_ difficult.

Axel had called out to his back, "No hard feelings, right?" Roxas gave him the finger.

Roxas' roommate, it seemed, had dropped off the face of the planet. Roxas had wandered over to Vista when Dead Week was over, beginning to wonder if Zexion was stuffed in a dumpster somewhere. They'd invited him in, smoked him out, and told him Zexion was at the library. Utterly stoned, Roxas debated navigating his way to the 24 hour study room at the library where Zexion was holed up with a good one quarter of the rest of the student body, but he figured he'd probably fall and drown in the ocean before he got that far. He'd woken up nestled against Tidus on the couch, mouth drier than the Sahara, the bong still sitting in Tidus' hands.

He wondered if that was the start of it—waking up wrapped around Tidus—or if it came as he finished his last final, a three hour in-class exam for Later Shakespeare. Maybe all the food he hadn't eaten over the last two weeks was finally catching up with him. It was possible he was suffering from a lack of Zexion, though highly unlikely. Maybe he was nervous about the next quarter. _Or maybe Thanksgiving. Could be that._ He tried to sigh, but it seemed like the air necessary would not fill his lungs. He was vaguely aware that his stomach was growling, gnawing painfully at his insides in an attempt to motivate him enough to drag himself to the dining commons. Despite how dark his room was with the heavy drapes obscuring the single window, he knew it must be well into the afternoon, and he'd skipped dinner after his last final to bury himself in bed. He tried to conjure up some food that he'd be interested in eating, but the memory of everything tasted like nothing.

_Just get the fuck over it_, he thought. _Thanksgiving. Big fucking deal_. Roxas, hands at his sides, fisted his sheets angrily. _Sora. Big fucking deal._ He couldn't understand how, as the years passed, the anguish increased rather than diminished. _I'll leave late tomorrow. After sundown. He'll be asleep when I get home. Then it's only three days instead of four._ Roxas sucked his bottom lip, envisioning driving into town in a way so that he didn't pass by the front of Sora's house. _But he'll be mad_, he frowned. He swallowed, throat dry, and wished his brain didn't feel like it was stuffed full of cotton. He decided he needed a smoke when Roxas heard voices approaching.

"Yeah, just let me change my shirt, man. I feel like _shit_." Zexion's voice sounded excited, keys jangling at the door. "I have _no_ idea where Roxas is. I don't think he's here." More jangling at the lock. "He always gets weird right before we go on break." The door opened. "Like I don't think he has a very—ROXAS. Hi. Just talking about you," Zexion covered, having the decency to sound at least slightly embarrassed. Roxas said nothing, noticed Demyx and Axel standing just outside the door.

"Vampire chic, Rox? It's one in the afternoon. Mind if I open the curtains?" Zexion moved to let the day into the room, frowning sympathetically at Roxas before rummaging through his closet.

"Hey, Roxas." It took Roxas a long moment to figure out Axel was speaking. Cotton. Everything, cotton. Green eyes appeared over his as Axel leaned in to Roxas' bottom bunk. He looked concerned. Roxas said nothing.

"Leave it, Axel," Zexion said, pulling a shirt over his head. "He gets like this before breaks. He's just being stubborn and moody—not that I don't love ya, Rox—but, seriously, there's nothing we can do. He'll snap out of it." Zexion exited the room, not waiting for the other boys to follow. Demyx, standing in the threshold looking nervous, shot Axel a _what the fuck?_ look.

"Just go ahead, Dem. I'll catch up," Axel said, sitting on the corner of Roxas' bed. Demyx shrugged and waved at Roxas before shutting the door. Axel stared at the floor by Roxas' bed. "You sick?"

Roxas sucked in a breath, prepared to answer with some flighty non-reality that got people off his back, but he realized Axel already knew his deal. Axel already knew he was one of _those_ kids.

"I'm just… it's just a bad day." Roxas hated how small his voice sounded.

Axel's face turned towards him. "Don't wanna talk about it?"

Roxas tried to shrug, felt the beginning of the motion in his shoulders as the muscles tensed, but the action wouldn't come. "Nothing to say." _So just leave. Just leave me alone._ Roxas stared at a blemish in the wooden underside of Zexion's bunk, a small darkened swirl of birch that bent and looped like a fingerprint. _Just leave._

Axel, eyes still locked on Roxas, bounced lightly on the bed. "You should come out with us. End of finals celebration at Little V." Roxas didn't respond. Couldn't the guy take a hint? The redhead cleared his throat before continuing. "I can… I have something that will take your mind off whatever it is."

Roxas felt something like a large bell ring hollowly in his chest. He turned his gaze toward Axel's, the other boy's green eyes hesitant, unsure. "Meth?" Just saying the word made Roxas' heart pump a bit faster.

Axel shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why do you do it?" Roxas asked.

Axel shrugged again. "I like it."

"I like cheeseburgers." Neither of them laughed, and Axel's expression darkened.

"I do it because I _can_. That okay with you?" Axel gestured with his hands exasperatedly. _He's lying_, Roxas thought.

"I'll make you a promise," Roxas said, sitting up.

"I'm not going to fucking stop, if that's what you're thinking. You can promise to give me the best blowjob of my life, but it's not going to change anything."

"Way to jump to conclusions," Roxas said, frowning. "I mean I'll make you a promise that I won't lie to you… if you don't lie to me."

Axel's face went blank. "You're good. I told you that, right?"

"Psych major, remember," Roxas said tonelessly.

"Yeah, whatever." Axel crossed his arms and turned his gaze back to the floor by Roxas' bed. "I do it because I like myself when I do it. It doesn't just make me feel good—and it fucking _does_—it makes me feel _better_." The redhead continued to stare at the floor, unblinking. "I'm not _addicted_ to it or anything. I just do it… y'know, whenever. It's not a big deal." He turned his head and smiled, shyly almost, at Roxas. "Neurotic enough for you?"

"No," Roxas said simply.

"Oh, no?" Axel said, mouth twisting up into a grin. "I've played this game before. The 'Who's More Fucked Up' thing, right? Favorite pastime of residential fucktards the world over. So let's hear it, Mr. Neuroses. Lay it on me."

Roxas took a deep breath. "I…" Axel's eyebrows rose expectantly, except Roxas couldn't make the next part come. He realized no one in the entire world knew what he was about to admit. He could hardly admit to himself.

"You… are secretly an ex-convict alien from the Pleiades?" Roxas scrunched up his face in distaste. "Not that one? Hmm, let's see. You… were born a girl and recently had a sex change?" Roxas shoved the other boy off the bed. "Hey! Okay, seriously. I think I got it." The redhead stood up and leaned in close to Roxas. A rush of adrenaline swept through Roxas' veins and he felt his breath catch in his chest. "You… are in love with me."

"WHAT?!" Roxas spluttered.

Axel ruffled his hair. "Way to shatter my ego into a million pieces, Roxas."

"I don't even _know_ you!"

"Yeah, that's why it's called a _joke_." Axel stood, stretching his arms overhead. "You need to lighten up. And I need a fucking cigarette." He leaned down and picked up something from the side of Roxas' bed. A pack of Parliaments. "Forgot you smoked."

Roxas shrugged. "You can take one. I think I'm going to—" he was cut off abruptly as Axel jerked him to his feet and marched him out the door. The older boy directed him down the stairs and to the concrete bench Roxas often smoked at. Roxas opened his mouth to protest, squinting in the bright sunlight, but Axel stuck a cigarette in before he could speak.

He flicked Roxas' lighter. "Inhale." Roxas made a face and sucked lightly. He took a hit long enough to make Axel smirk as he lit his own. "You should quit, y'know?"

Roxas scowled. "Seriously, shut the fuck up."

The two smoked in comfortable silence, both staring out over the quad at the expanse of ocean just beyond the bluffs. The sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon, and Roxas felt cold dread prod at him. _Few more hours left. Fuck._

"Fell asleep in your clothes, huh? Axel asked, his cigarette pointing up and down at Roxas' body.

"How'd you know? I mean, I could've gotten dressed."

"Saw you walking to class yesterday. I see you around a lot more than you see me."

"…Well that's not creepy or anything."

Axel smiled, broad and winning, and Roxas found that he was surprised. He'd never seen the other boy smile so openly. "You should really come over to Vista with me. We can," Axel cleared his throat lightly, "bond."

_Smoke meth, you mean_, Roxas thought wryly. "I really shouldn't." The redhead's face fell. "We could hang tomorrow? I'm not heading out until later."

Roxas could almost feel a wall slam down over Axel's features. "Ah, Saturday. I'm, uh, a little busy tomorrow."

Roxas frowned, remembering something about weekends and not wanting to know about them. "Do you work or something?"

Axel took a long hit from his cigarette, inhaling right to the filter before tossing the stub on the ground. "Yeah. Work." His voice sounded a million miles away. "Something like that."

"Something like that? I can't believe you're breaking a promise you made, like, ten minutes ago."

Axel stood suddenly. "It's not a lie. It's work." He didn't look at Roxas. "See you after break." Without a glance, Axel started walking toward Little Vista. Roxas felt slightly shocked at the abrupt change.

"Axel!" He called out. The redhead stopped, turning back slightly. "Have a good Thanksgiving," Roxas said lamely. _Idiot!_

Axel looked at him thoughtfully, fingers drumming against his thighs. "Yeah. You too, Roxas."

Roxas watched Axel's back get smaller and smaller as he walked into the neighboring streets. Already the students living off campus could be heard celebrating the end of the quarter, thrumming basslines warring with each other across blocks as groups of students milled about from house party to house party. As Roxas watched people climb on to roofs, cans of beer gripped in hands, he wondered why he was fine if other people were around, but when he was alone it was like a black wave crashing down upon him. The sun, huge and wavering on the horizon, began its descent behind the edge of the ocean, painting the sky in pinks and yellows. That was another thing that had drawn Roxas to Kingdom: the sunsets were spectacular. Groups of kids would gather on their roofs to watch the sunset every day, others trekking down to the beach to watch the fading of the light.

Half the sky bruising over and half the sky a rosy dawn, it was like the portrait of a war between heaven and hell. It made Roxas' heart hurt.

--

Roxas pulled into his driveway nervously. He'd left Kingdom a little later than planned, hitting the road well past 10p.m. after re-selling his textbooks back to the school bookstore, seeing Zexion off, and wandering aimlessly on the beach. He'd put it off and put it off until he was sure no one would be awake when he got home. So far it seemed like he was right. It looked like all the lights in his house were off. Roxas glanced at the digital clock on his dashboard. _Past twelve. She's probably asleep._ He took one deep breath before getting out of the car and walking to his front door. He unlocked and opened it quietly. Like always, everything looked exactly the same. It even smelled the same—warm, earthy, and the hint of vanilla oil his mom used on room diffusers. He was about to creep up the stairs—skipping the fourth one that creaks loud—when he noticed shadows bouncing off a wall leading toward the living room. Someone was watching T.V.

"Mom?" Roxas called, walking toward the bluish glare. His mother gasped lightly, tapping her chest.

"Jesus, honey. Gave me a scare." Roxas smiled sheepishly, about to apologize, when he heard an excited cry. Two seconds later Sora plowed into him.

"You _idiot_! We've been waiting for hours!" Sora squeezed Roxas into his chest with back-breaking force. Without even having to think, Roxas instinctually knew Sora must've been having a rough time at home. Sora's hugs always spoke louder than anything he could—or would—say.

"Sorry," Roxas whispered just past Sora's ear. It was habit of theirs, speaking in whispers to each other, borne from years of nights belonging to hushed conversations. Laying side by side in bed, almost filmic negatives of each other, they whispered courage and sorrow until claimed by sleep or dawn. They never lied when they whispered.

"It's okay," Sora whispered back, squeezing briefly before letting Roxas go. "We're watching a re-make of some horror film from the 70s. It's _terrible!_"

Roxas smiled, his mom raising a glass of wine in toast to Sora's sentiment. "So it's just you two?" Roxas wondered if the hope in his voice was detectable.

"Oh, Ri— " Sora began. Roxas felt arms slide around his waist and tug at his hips. His back pressed up against a chest. Warm, familiar.

"I was in the kitchen," Riku said, the words floating on a breath past Roxas' temple. Roxas felt a grin stretch over his mouth. He shrugged off the other boy's arms and turned to face him.

"Raiding the fridge again, Riku?"

"Hey, that was only one time! Your mom wanted an omelet!"

"'Onions? How can you not have onions?'" Roxas teased, throwing his voice into a lower register. Riku rolled his eyes, shoving Roxas on the shoulder playfully. Roxas felt the lingering trail of Riku's thumb down his arm. He felt a spark go off in his eyes as he stared into Riku's— aquamarine pools that were not done justice in the dim light. Roxas had the sudden desire for sunshine, bright and breaking.

"Why don't you join us, sweetie? The boys are having a glass," his mom offered. Riku held up a bottle of Pinot, swishing its contents.

"Mother, I'm appalled. Encouraging underage drinking now, are we?"

His mother smiled winningly, running a hand through her pale gold hair. "I take none of the blame. They—your charming delinquent friends—coerced me into breaking the law."

"The woman speaks the truth," Sora nodded merrily as he accepted a glass from Riku. "Thanks, babe," Sora said fondly, winking up at the silver-haired boy. Roxas felt a quick twinge before he pushed it resolutely out of his mind and jumped on the couch next to Sora. "Whoa, Rox. Glass full of fermented grapes right here." Roxas made a face before plucking the glass from Sora, taking three huge swallows before winking at his mother.

"I've raised a wino," his mother declared, sounding not at all displeased.

"But we love him all the same," Sora said, leaning his head against Roxas' shoulder as he sipped at his wine.

The four of them settled into a running commentary of the horror film re-make, and Roxas only stared at the way Sora and Riku rubbed each others' knees—trading slow touches under the glow of electricity—for three and a half seconds before it became a non-issue in his mind. Because this part he could deal with. This part was utterly normal, utterly controllable. Witticisms came to the front of his mouth before he even had to think of them, and he countered everything Riku had to say, the two of them dueling, with Sora verbally reprimanding both of them until they started up again. Because this part he could deal with: the teasing, the verbal sparring, the smartass gibes. It was the other parts, the forgotten hours afterward when he was alone and supposed to be asleep, that Roxas couldn't deal with.

Roxas ran his fingers through Sora's hair, eyes on the screen. The chestnut strands of stubborn spikes so like his own felt strong under his fingers, heavy with life and thick with the scent of milk and honey. They'd caught flak for it before, how carelessly they touched each other: hugs that went on too long, little pecks pressed to cheeks and just below the ear, absent stroking. It was their system of comfort, a standby when hugs spoke or hurt too much, but people were hard pressed to understand the language of whisper and touch that Roxas and Sora shared. Roxas never thought about it much, how the shell of Sora disintegrated when they were alone, half-asleep, whispering to each other, but if he had, he'd find the change nothing short of miraculous. After all, they were not soft boys—life didn't grant them that appealing luxury. They were hardened; Sora almost unbreakably so, Roxas rough around the edges and only just upwards of brittle. Yet despite whatever necessary hardness of diamonds both boys wore like armor over their skin, the quiet of night and each other called out the child; soft, yielding. Roxas never thought about it much, but he loved Sora. He loved Sora in a way that surpassed thinking and exceeded knowing. He loved Sora in a way that was being.

This is why he attributed it, at first, to mimetic desire. If you hang out with someone long enough, you pick up their lingo. Aside from speaking alike, you being to dress alike. You begin to develop the same interests. You begin to _desire_ the same things. In this vein, Roxas thought he'd figured it out. He loved Sora. Sora loved him, of course, but Sora also loved Riku. So Roxas… he loved Riku, too. The nuances of love should have saved him—"loved" as a friend—but the nuances of love hadn't considered mimetic desire. Because mimetic desire he could deal with; a theoretical term with a specific approach you could wrap your mind around. Roxas liked that. In the end, however, it didn't matter why he fell in love with his best friend's boyfriend. He did. Approaches and theories and postulates that all led up to the same thing: Roxas loved Riku. Roxas was _in love_ with Riku.

The credits began to roll and his mother flicked the screen off. Sora, nestled against Roxas, was fast asleep. Roxas' mother collected their glasses, dropping a kiss on top of Roxas' hair and waving her full hands at Riku in lieu of saying goodnight. Roxas shifted under Sora's weight and turned to face Riku.

"I'll take him home," Riku said quietly. Roxas noted Sora's hand was entangled in the other boy's.

"No. He's spending the night."

Riku regarded him silently, the ticking and tocking of a clock the only sound aside from Roxas' mother rinsing their glasses. "He needs the rest, Roxas."

"You're trying to lecture _me_ on keeping him up at night?" Roxas challenged, his voice rising just above hushed.

"Could you sound any more jealous?" Riku fired back.

"Just cut me a fucking break, okay? I want to spend time with him." Before Roxas could stop himself, the next part slipped out. "I want to wake up with him."

Riku's eyebrows rose. "Maybe I should be the jealous one."

Roxas growled lightly. "Don't be sick. He likes talking when he wakes up. It's easier for him when he's tired. Maybe you'd notice if you spent more time _talking_ and less time having _se_-" Sora's hand shot up and covered Roxas' mouth before he could finish.

"Stop arguing." Sora frowned, tapping at Roxas' mouth. "You should take off, babe," he said, turning to press his lips to Riku's. Roxas felt dizzy, Sora's hand still pressed to his mouth. "I'm spending the night."

Riku shrugged and curled his hand affectionately against Sora's cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, then." His eyes darted over to Roxas. "Nice to have you back, Rox." Roxas nodded briefly, pulling Sora's hand off his mouth and sliding close as he draped Sora's arm around his shoulder.

"It's nice to beback." He didn't say it coldly, and since Sora was smiling ridiculously at his boyfriend, only Riku saw the ice in Roxas' eyes. They watched as Riku left before Sora turned to face Roxas, frowning again.

"You can't argue with him about my sex life, Rox. That's just wrong."

"Ugh, we weren't arguing about your _sex life_, Sora." _Except we were. Or I was_. "That's gross," Roxas added for good measure. "He didn't want you to sleep here," he said, voice full of accusation.

"He's jealous," Sora said simply, plucking at Roxas' hair. "He doesn't understand." Sora pulled Roxas into a hug, soft. They were alone, his mother already upstairs in her room. They let the armor fall away.

"No one understands," Roxas whispered, eyes closed and pressed against Sora's shoulder.

"I don't want them to," Sora whispered back, fingers tangling in Roxas' hair.

They made their way up the stairs to Roxas' room. Sora kept his arms around Roxas' waist as he dug through drawers for stuff to sleep in. Even when they changed, a hand was left on a shoulder, on a hip—their cultivated communion, almost like lovers. Almost. As they crawled into Roxas' fairly comfortable full-size bed, Roxas wondered if Sora would talk tonight. He knew his best friend had _something_ going on, but they never pressed each other. They'd done the same thing so frequently he knew what to expect. If Sora sighed heavily and stared at Roxas in the eyes, hands placed anywhere, it meant he would talk. If Sora stared at the ceiling, the spot where a light fixture (and, inevitably, a noose) once hung, and pressed his fingers to Roxas' throat, then Roxas knew they would sleep. He watched as Sora situated himself under the blankets… and his gaze drifted up to the ceiling. Roxas closed his eyes, felt the press of Sora's fingers at his throat. Always the same touch. _I almost lost this_, they said. Stroking, almost petting, they said, _What if? What if?_ Sora's hand fell away and he scooted close, arms encircling Roxas' waist. Roxas, half-asleep, felt the press of lips just at the corner of his mouth. _That's a new one_, he noted. Their lips almost touched.

"Missed you," Sora mumbled sleepily. Roxas fell asleep before he could respond.

--

Roxas was sure, sunlight streaming through his open windows and falling on Sora's sleeping face, that he hated himself. _Why, WHY would I ignore his e-mails?_ With every twitch his best friend made, Roxas hated himself more. _I am mean. He said I was mean. I am mean to him. Why the fuck am I mean to him?_ Gardeners in a neighboring yard started up a lawnmower and Roxas scowled, sliding away from Sora to close the windows. _What the fuck is wrong with me, seriously?_ He shut—well, slammed—his second window a little too harshly, and he heard a soft gasp behind him. Roxas whirled around and found Sora sitting up in bed, eyes wide.

"The guillotine falls on its own," Sora said, voice bright with alarm. Roxas went to him immediately, diving under the covers and ballooning the sheet above him and Sora until it settled around them like a half-hearted tent. "And the fountain spits, and it hurts, and the gates!" Sora rushed, hands indicating some complicated movement.

"Where, Sora?" Roxas asked, voice low, fingers brushing warm and heavy strokes up Sora's arm.

"Jack, Jack knows. I-I saw him go through to the snow. I was so happy because of the snow and the presents and—"

"What about the merry-go-round, Sora?" Roxas asked, a string of dread drawing taut in his chest. A misshapen heap of small details Sora had shared about his other reality rolled around Roxas' brain. He rubbed harder up Sora's arm.

"It was broken." Sora exhaled slowly and drew in a long shaky breath. "It was broken, Roxas." Fear clouded Sora's eyes and Roxas pulled him into a hug. Sometimes Sora would have breaks—minute stretches of psychotic flashbacks—and Roxas had to scramble for some doorway into the darkness of Sora's mind that would lead the boy out again, usually a detail that had a twin in the real world. In this case, a merry-go-round Roxas had remembered Sora mentioning.

"How frequent?" Roxas asked. He didn't want to know the answer.

"Not too bad. Every other week, maybe." Sora's fingers traced on Roxas' back. "Riku doesn't know how to deal with it." Roxas focused on the way Sora moved his finger, the same thing over and over. "He just shakes me until I stop babbling." _There_, Roxas thought,_ a… keyhole_. He pushed Sora away and grabbed his hands.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Sora shrugged. "I dunno. You're different at school, Rox." Sora looked away, pushing the covers off of them and focusing on the bird just outside Roxas' window. "It's like you become a different person. I didn't think you'd care."

Roxas sucked in a sharp breath and dropped Sora's hands. Sora whipped his head around and darted a hand to Roxas' leg. "How could you think that? What _the fuck_ do you think you mean to me?"

Sora leaned in close, resting his arms over Roxas' shoulders. "Don't yell, Roxas. I only said that because I was annoyed. You get so… _mean_ when you're up there. I know it's hard, but why are you mean to _me_?"

_Because I'm in love with your boyfriend and it makes me feel guilty so I displace my anger on to you._ "Because you're the only one I have." _Because I know you'll forgive me._ It wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth.

"How does that make sense?"

"It doesn't." Sora's arms felt heavy on him, heavier than the lithe body warranted. "We're not talking about me. We're talking about you."

"I'm _fine_," Sora huffed, hands fiddling with the tag at the back of Roxas' shirt. Roxas looked doubtful, opened his mouth to respond, but his cellphone went off.

"Probably my roommate," Roxas said, tugging the covers off of them and grabbing at last night's discarded jeans to pull out his phone. New text message… from a number he didn't know. Frowning, Roxas opened the text:

_Demyx had your number. Happy Thanksgiving. Sorry we couldn't hang yesterday._

"Who is it? Sora asked, yawning.

"…Someone from school." Roxas deleted the message, catching himself just a second too late to add the number to his phone. _Damn_. Sora yanked the phone from his hands.

"Oooh, is it a girl? How's Kairi, by the way? She like never comes down over the breaks. My mom actually wanted to—hey! You deleted it!" Sora tilted his head slightly and squinted at his best friend.

"That was an accident, actually." It wasn't a lie, not really. Sora's hand darted out to Roxas' neck.

"Really?" Sora asked, peering closely at the other boy.

"Basically."

"You're using erasive action, Roxie."

"That's _evasive_, genius."

"Oooh, Mr. College, with his big time vocabulary, here to educate us peons."

Roxas smirked. "'Peons,' is it? And you think that means…"

"Ants," Sora said firmly, nodding. Roxas snorted and yanked Sora from the bed.

"Let's make waffles."

--

Roxas stared morosely at his plate of partially eaten waffles. Riku had shown up before they'd finished eating, had promptly devoured half of Sora's waffles, and spirited his best friend away for a day of "Thanksgiving preparations" at Sora's house. _Right. Thanksgiving prep._ Roxas speared a perfect golden piece of waffle, smashing it against the plate with his fork until it was flattened. _More like sex_. Sora had asked him to come along, but Roxas had seen Riku jerk his head imperceptibly, indicating he should decline. _So they can have sex._ Disgusted, Roxas dumped the rest of his waffles in the trash. _Stop thinking about it_. He washed the dishes, horrified that the dish soap, the fucking _dish soap_, reminded him of inviting aquamarine. And there was the silverware. Roxas swore colorfully, tossing a handful of forks and spoons on to the drying rack and slammed the faucet off. They were probably in Sora's room right now. They were probably on his bed. Probably.

Roxas stomped up the stairs, his loud footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent house. His mother was at work. He was alone. Roxas slammed his bedroom door behind him, fully aware he was being stupid. He tore his laptop from his overnight bag and pulled the lid up. _Moaning. They're moaning against each other right now. Sora's probably on top. Probably moaning._ Roxas navigated his way to a bookmarked page of porn, sliding a hand into his pants. He was already nauseatingly hard. _Come on Riku. Make him come. Make my best friend come, Riku_. He pumped himself in time to the mechanical rocking of the guys going at it in streaming 320kbps. _Fuck him, Riku._ His heart pounded, the laptop resting on his chest wobbling as his arm jerked furiously and his hips twitched. _Grab his waist and fuck him. Stick your fingers in his mouth._ On some level Roxas knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn't masturbate to images of his best friend and his best friend's boyfriend. Because it was "wrong." All of it was wrong. _Should be me._ Roxas held his breath as he came in his pants, frenzied movements slowing to a slow glide. He watched, furious, as the guys on his screen undulated against each other like they were in love. He dragged his hand past his torso, trailing come up to his chest. _Is Riku doing this right now? Is he smearing Sora's come up his chest? Is he? IS HE? IS HE?_

Roxas swallowed past the dryness in his throat. It hurt as the flesh peeled apart behind the swallow, like a band-aid being torn away slowly. He loved Sora. He _knew_ he loved Sora. But wasn't he better? Better looking? Smarter? _Should be me._ He loved Sora. _Should be ME_. He'd never hurt Sora. _Riku. Riku Riku Riku_. "Riku," he whispered aloud. He swallowed again, licking his lips. "Riku," he moaned. Roxas stuck a finger, still slicked with come, in his mouth. _Should be me._ There was, of course, his earlier conclusion that he was ugly. So maybe he wasn't better looking. He was smarter, though, wasn't he? _Erasive action_. Roxas laughed hysterically, voice wound tight and pitched high.

…But Sora was happier. _That's it. That must be it._ Sora might've been crazy, might've been delusional, but he was hardly ever _sad_. Roxas was sad, all the time sad, even on good days. Sad manifested as anger, sad manifested as arousal. _All the fucking time._ Roxas shoved his hand angrily back into his pants. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ All he had, all he ever had, was questions. Sad manifested as defensive, sad manifested as a black fucking hole. _You're sick, Roxas_, he told himself past his groan of blind want, bucking into his hand. _You're fucking sick_. He imagined Sora with eyes screwed up in pleasure, lifted and slammed home again and again on Riku, head thrust back. He growled savagely as he came, the front of his pants damp with semen. _Seriously, kill yourself, you fucking pervert._ He yanked his hand from his pants and brought it to his mouth, sucking himself off his fingers like he had a gun to his head—horrified, obedient. _No wonder Riku doesn't want you. You're worse than crazy._ Roxas' chest moved like he was laughing.

--

"Hey." _Shit. Cornered_. Riku's and Roxas' families had congregated at Sora's for Thanksgiving dinner, and Roxas had just excused himself to have a cigarette under the guise of walking off some of the food which, if anyone had watched him closely enough, he had barely touched at all. He'd been halfway down the block, Parliament already lit, when Riku came up to him. "Thought you quit."

_Shit._ Roxas shrugged. He didn't remember trying to quit. Riku smirked and plucked the cigarette from his fingers, bringing it to his mouth. "Sure, Riku. You can have a hit."

Riku grinned around an exhale. "So generous of you, Rox." Riku took another small hit before handing the cigarette back. "Don't think I'm not on to you. 'I'm sooo full.' You ate like two bites. I know college is supposed to make you anorexic or whatever, but you're fine, Rox."

Roxas' heart pinged. "Thanks for your concern, mom. I'll make sure to go back and eat my vegetables." Riku chuckled and bumped up against Roxas. Roxas really, _really_ wished he wouldn't do stuff like that.

"Anything up? You've been pretty, I dunno, harsh since you got in." Roxas passed the cigarette back to Riku. He was racking up secondhand kisses.

"School," Roxas said, waving his hand vaguely. "Boring shit."

"Speaking of school," Riku said, blowing smoke right into Roxas' face. "Thanks for answering my text."

"Oh, wait, I'm sorry. You, Riku, actually texted me, Roxas, while I was away at school? I didn't answer because I was dead of shock."

"I see how it is, Roxas," Riku smirked, reaching into the other boy's back pocket for his pack of Parliaments. Roxas leaned the barest of fractions into the touch. "I'll make sure to send you little love notes from now own."

"Sora would _love_ that."

Riku's faced darkened under the streetlights. "Funny." He blew a column of smoke into the air and passed the cigarette to Roxas. "But seriously, who was that douchebag?"

Roxas had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop from smiling. "Just some random guy. Hardly know him."

"What's his name?"

"Why?" Roxas leaned toward Riku, eyebrows raised. "Jealous?"

Riku didn't miss a beat. He grabbed Roxas by the hips and pulled the blonde flush up against him. "Of?"

_Kiss me._ He could feel his heart beating in his mouth. _Fucking kiss me right now_. He just needed to tilt his head up, rise slightly on his toes. When he felt Riku's fingers slide under his chin and tilt his face up, he prayed that Sora was still at the dinner table working his way through a second helping of candied yams. _Oh fuck, kiss me. Kiss me._

"I don't want you hanging out with him." Riku murmured. _So close_. Roxas felt his insides liquefy, arms hanging limply at his sides, hands desperate to mirror Riku's hands settled just above the curve of his ass, the smallest amount of pressure keeping their hips together.

"What if I don't give a shit what you think?"

Riku paused for a moment before his hands exerted more pressure at Roxas' waist, rolling his hips infinitesimally. "What if I make you give a shit?"

_FUCK!_ "Why are you_ doing_ this, Riku?" Roxas asked through teeth clenched of their own accord.

Riku shrugged, lips quirking cruelly. "We're just talking."

"Your _hands_ are on my _ass_," Roxas hissed.

"I guess Psych majors don't need to take a course on anatomy, huh?" Riku chuckled, tapping his fingers at Roxas' waist.

"_Details_, Riku. You _love_ Sora."

Riku leaned forward, hands dropping from Roxas' body. "_So do you_." The whisper in his ear, warm and slow, pulled chills from beneath Roxas' skin.

"Are you guys fighting?" Sora's voice prompted an immediate shift in the posture of the other boys. They turned, opening outward like petals. "Are you _smoking_, Riku?" Sora accused, eyes narrowing.

"Actually, babe, me and Rox were just talking about you."

_You gorgeous motherfucking asshole._ "Yeah," Roxas said, shuffling his feet. Sora pressed a hand to Roxas' cheek before stepping into Riku's arms.

"Yeah. We were discussing the best way to get you to do a threesome with us." Sora gasped audibly and Roxas choked on air. "I suggested alcohol, but Rox seems to think offering to videotape it would get you in the sack in no time."

"That's gross, Roxas," Sora frowned.

"HE IS SO FULL OF SHIT!" Roxas thundered, swatting out at Riku as the older boy used Sora as a human shield.

"We want you so bad, Sora," Riku cooed, darting away from Roxas' jabs, tugging the brunette along in his arms. "Don't let Roxas' angry face fool you."

"I'll _kill_ you!" Roxas swore, giving up the offensive. "I will seriously sneak into your house while you sleep and _kill_ you until you are _dead_."

"Well, I'd hate for you to kill me and stop _before_ I died."

"Peon," Sora chirped, winking at Roxas.

"PEON DOES NOT MEAN ANTS!" Roxas screamed, tackling the other two.

They were a writing mass of limbs, Riku on the floor with a very startled Sora above him. Roxas found himself breathing hard, Riku's knee in a very, _very_ inappropriate place, Sora directly below him. _I hate my life_, he thought.

"Good one, Roxas," Riku mumbled, mouth full of Sora's hair. "Too bad we're still clothed."

Roxas emitted a strangled cry of rage and shoved himself off the other two, inadvertently grinding into Sora's lap. Unexpectedly, the brunette moaned on an exhale. Everyone froze.

Sora's eyes widened. "Ohmygod." Riku coughed and burst into laughter. "Ohmygod, Roxas, it's all Riku's fault, he says stuff sometimes when we're—yeah, and like ohmygod, it's not like that at all." Riku laughed harder.

"I'm not retarded, Sora." Roxas smiled, offering a hand to help his best friend up. His mind was racing. _Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck._

"He's perverted, Roxas," Sora said seriously, kicking the still laughing Riku on the ground.

"Oh, come on, babe. It turns you on," Riku said, clutching at his side where Sora had kicked.

"Open your mouth again. I fucking dare you," Sora said, glaring down at Riku. Roxas felt extraordinarily lightheaded.

"I'm… going back inside." He turned and walked back to Sora's house. He heard the two shouting at each other behind him. _It's nothing. Why are you even thinking about it?_ Roxas knew Riku liked to talk dirty. _Riku being Riku. It's nothing_. His cellphone went off as Roxas sat back down at the table, eyeing the platter of wiggling canned cranberry "sauce" wearily. New text message from Zexion:

_Gobble gobble, bitch._

Roxas smiled despite himself, a bubble of crazed laughter clawing its way out of his throat. He had one more day of this before he'd be back at Kingdom; back behind a hundred miles of safe distance where he could empty his head. He stared at the chest cavity of the turkey, wondering how it might feel if the turkey was alive when they ripped out its lungs. He remembered a story about a crab being eaten with its heart still beating. He picked up a slice of turkey, repulsed, and put it in his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4: Marionettes

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine.

**A/N**: I HAVE FANART! It feels pretty unbelievable, to be honest. Since ffnet hates links, head over to my profile: **zippo** at dA, the scene from "Empires" where Rox is stoned and having naughty thoughts on the beach. It's beautiful. Also, if anyone is still interested in that AkuRoku mix, the link is up on my profile.

In earlier chapters you'll notice most of the action takes place over a couple hours or a day or two. I'm trying to add more time since it feels funny having some kind of holiday every chapter. Yes, this one is Christmas. _Almost_ Christmas, if you want to get technical. The rest of it will be in the next chapter.

There is pretty explicit drug use in this chapter. I know I've been misleading with the levity and the humor, but this is very much supposed to be a dark story. You get hints of that here, and it's all pretty heavy-handed. SORRY. Please enjoy, anyway.

--

**Chapter Four: Marionettes**

On a Sunday they stood on his doorstep, staring in eyes like mirrors. The sun was winding its way down to the horizon, and Roxas knew it was past time. Hands pressed to hips, not talking past the outpouring of identical oceans, sometimes it felt like memorization. Roxas would tell himself to remember how the light fell on his shoulders and caught the golden highlights in Sora's hair. He would tell himself to remember Sora's slow quivering breaths and dry eyes fighting for bravery. _Don't hurt him. Don't hurt him_. It was always the same slow goodbye.

Roxas, for all his perceptive prowess, could not see the hurt that leaving inflicted upon himself. At first he was disappointed and disgusted with his behavior, how he wouldn't answer Sora's calls or respond to his texts while he was at school. He wrote it off as residual anger about Riku, as jealousy. There were elements of this, of course, but the greater hurt was something he could not see at all. Every time Roxas left to return to Kingdom, a Blink-182 song blasting over the speakers of his rundown '90 Ford Escort, a very significant but unacknowledged part of him felt like it was being torn in two—stretched over the spatial and temporal, bleeding with the loss of Sora, of safety. He guarded himself from the memory of his best friend the way you might take care never to touch a fire again after being burned. It hurts. Why would you want to hurt? But Roxas cannot see this.

When Roxas first decided he had to go away for college, when he was stifled and drowned in the weight of things he shouldn't have felt at all, there had been a complete deterioration. Sora didn't speak to him for weeks. When he finally came around, one day before Roxas was set to leave for freshman year at Kingdom, Sora wasn't there to make amends.

"You hate me," Sora had said, glaring at the bottom of Roxas' driveway. It sounded less like an accusation and more like a command. They should have been sad. Sora shoved him to the ground, the coarse concrete hard against Roxas' back. "How long have you hated me, Rox? Too crazy for you?" They should have been sad, but instead they were furious.

"This is not about _you_, Sora!" Because everything, every_one_, was already about Sora. This needed to be about Roxas. Sora left his house that day with a bloodied lip, Roxas with a scraped back and bruised knuckles. It wasn't until the first month of freshman year was over that Roxas spoke to his best friend again. He'd driven home, miserable and unseeing, at the end of midterms. He drove straight to Sora's house. Sora, sitting in bed waiting for the blackness of sleep, immediately knew Roxas was outside. Sora knew this because he knew the sound Roxas' car made. Because that is what they did; they memorized the minutiae of each other: Sora would only wear white socks, Roxas sounded like a five year old when he was tired, Sora's hands always smelled like grass, Roxas' car sounded like a clock when he pulled the e-brake. Sora was running out of the house as Roxas walked through the little picket fence. They didn't have to speak. They walked into each other's arms and all was forgiven.

Roxas thought the next time he left it would be easier. It only ever got harder. Now, standing close and sharing air, the same Blink-182 song on repeat in his head, he could only fall apart all over again.

"Beautiful," he whispered, fingers moving against the belt loops of Sora's jeans. _You're so beautiful to me_. Sora smiled, mimicking the movement against Roxas' waist.

"Call me when you get in." Sora's hand curved against Roxas' neck, stroking at the fine hair, three o'clock sunlight pouring over them. Roxas turned and walked to his car. They never say goodbye, and Roxas never looks back.

--

The sun was setting as Roxas walked the two miles from the parking lot to his dorm. The air smelled like the end of autumn, crisp and clean like a clear blue sky shot through with telephone lines and no sound at all. He hummed under his breath as he bypassed the dorms and headed to the outcropping of bluffs that overlooked the ocean. Three pale blue picnic tables, industrial plastic disguised as wood, sat out of place on the small overhang. Roxas sat at the table closest to the edge, still humming, focused on the way the sun melted into rather than slipped behind the edge of the sea. _New quarter._ It was easier to breathe the salt and mist here than at home. _Easier to forget_. His lips moved without him as he ran his new schedule through his head. He'd added an English class last minute though he'd sworn that Later Shakespeare would be his last foray into the maddening world of literature. _This time I'll get Zex to write my papers._ He figured he'd bribe his roommate with a month's worth of willing subjection to the chaos of Little Vista.

A selection of pebbles littered the top of the table, scattered idly by a remarkably sentient gust of wind, and Roxas' fingers manipulated the small fragments absently. _Class on Mondays at eight in the fucking morning. What the hell was I thinking?_ Senior year loomed ever closer, and the enormous question of What Next approached with alarming speed. As a Psychology major, there were certain expectations held about what Roxas should do next… except it was never his plan to become a psychologist. He said he liked social pscyh, but in reality he was only interested in what people thought about how fucked up his mind was. He thought he'd find answers. Instead he found a handful of approaches that, in the end, all said the same thing: no one gets it.

The sun was almost fully melted at the horizon, a spill of ruby far off in the distance, when Roxas was startled by the sound of a phone flipping closed. He jolted slightly and turned. _Of course_. "Hey."

Axel, phone in hand, smirked at him. "Don't stop on account of me." The redhead slid in next to Roxas, tapping his phone on the table.

"What?" _This guy._

"You were singing," Axel said encouragingly. "Very surreal with the sunset and your little art project." Axel pointed at the pebbles Roxas had been rearranging.

Nonplussed, Roxas looked at the table. He frowned. Somehow, between the idle chatter in his brain and the humming, he'd rearranged the pebbles to form the world "believe." _You're losing it, Roxas_, he told himself, moving his arm to push the pebbles off the table. Axel caught his wrist.

"Nah, leave it. It's a nice sentiment."

Roxas shrugged. "It's Sunday."

"Your powers of perception are killing me, Roxas."

Roxas rolled his eyes. "Okay, smartass. Aren't you supposed to be at work or something?"

Axel look surprised. "Work?"

Roxas glowered. "You're a fucking liar. You said you had a job."

Comprehension colored Axel's features and his mouth quirked. "Good memory." As the other boy smiled, Roxas noticed a cut open on Axel's lower lip, a bead of blood pushing its way out. Like drawn by the strings of a puppeteer, Roxas' hand moved to wipe the blood away.

"You're bleeding." Axel's tongue darted out to catch the blood, inadvertently licking the tip of Roxas' finger. The blonde jerked his hand away like he'd been electrocuted.

"Yeah, some motherfucker decked me," Axel said. Roxas waited for him to continue, but Axel did not elaborate. "I need a drink."

_A drink sounds good_. "I, uh, have class at like eight tomorrow."

"…And?"

Roxas shook his head, smiling. "You're dauntless."

Axel was quiet for a moment, looking out at the darkening sea. "That makes sense coming from anyone else but you." Roxas opened his mouth to ask what the other boy meant, but Axel was standing and pulling Roxas along with him. "You. Me. Vista. There is alcohol to be had."

"Don't you worry about cirrhosis?" Roxas asked as the two of them made their way down Late Sunday Drive.

"I'm not an alcoholic," Axel snorted.

"No shit, neither am I," Roxas said. "But we're not immortal. We drink like fish."

"Having a crisis of morals, Roxas?" Axel asked, tapping the cigarette Roxas had taken out and was attempting to light.

"I'm not scared of cancer."

"It's not scared of you, either."

"Yeah, well, good for cancer. But cirrhosis can keep its filthy hands to itself."

They walked in only slightly awkward silence as Roxas smoked and the streetlights blinked on one by one. They were about to walk up Little Vista's driveway when Axel stopped and took the dying cigarette out of Roxas' hand and tossed it to the floor, stepping firmly on the glowing ember.

"Believe what?"

"Huh?" _This guy. I swear to god, this fucking guy._

"Your little project. 'Believe.' Believe what?" Axel's face was strangely blank.

"I dunno," Roxas shrugged. The evening air was hard to breathe, flowing like molasses into his lungs.

Axel turned abruptly up Vista's driveway. Roxas had half a mind to walk back to the dorms. The bastard was maddening. "You should sing more," the redhead called over his shoulder. "You have a great voice."

And that, really, was all it took. Roxas snapped. _You have a great voice. You have a great voice_. He pulled out his pack of Parliaments with shaking hands and sat roughly on the curb. _You have a great voice. You have a great voice_. Nicotine and chemicals swam into his lungs past the heavy night air and Roxas tried to ignore the memory dancing in front of him.

"_You have a great voice." Riku, standing close, hand on Roxas' shoulder. Spearmint on his breath. "You should sing more often." Riku, brushing his lips against Roxas' temple._

Roxas flicked the cigarette into the street and watched the stub twirl in a circle. _Stop_, he silently pleaded to no one in particular. _Please stop._ He hadn't even been back for a whole day. The memories strung along, knowing Roxas didn't want them to stop, not really.

"_Sing for me." A finger parting him, stroking at him. A simple melody, tasting of cigarettes and coffee, left his lips—a hymn to some ancestral deity. As the finger pushed past flesh, teasing at the ripple of muscle, the melody escalated. The other boy played him like an Aeolian lyre, teasing out the sounds with deft fingers and whispers softer than wind._

"_Sing for me, baby." A wet kiss pressed onto the tip of heat before he found himself in the other boy's mouth, gasping out open note chords. The mouth left him, trailing up his body; slick, warm. The finger plucked at internal strings. A kiss of feathers and light at his neck. "You're nothing like him."_

"Fuck," Roxas said. "Fuck." He staggered to his feet and hurried in past Vista's front door. Hayner, sitting on the couch with a drink, looked up and smiled messily. He was obviously drunk.

"ROXAS!" His name sounded wrong in Hayner's mouth, but Roxas had enough of how and when it sounded right. There comes a point when enough is enough, when just the idea of something brings a wave of nausea strong enough to rip dry heaves out of an aching chest. _Enough is enough_, he thought as he straddled Hayner's waist, the other blonde staring up at him in awe. He took the drink from Hayner's hand and put it to his mouth. _Vodka and cranberry_. His favorite vehicle of obliteration. He drank half the cup in one long pull before placing it back in the other boy's grasp. He bent forward and kissed Hayner on the mouth; slow insistence.

They broke away gasping. "H-how w-was your, uh, Thanksgiving?" Hayner stuttered as Roxas jutted his hips into Hayner's crotch.

"Shit," Roxas said, moving in to capture the other boy's mouth with his. Tongue like a lasso, flicking like a riding crop, he pressed himself up against the other boy. He moved his lips to Hayner's neck, kissing a path of curses against the skin. "How was yours?"

Roxas heard the other boy swallow noisily. "Fuck, Roxas. Why are you such a fucking cocktease?"

Roxas smirked and bounced in Hayner's lap. "We're just _talking_." This, of course, was a mistake. It only made him think of Riku's cruel smile, the one reserved just for Roxas. He dug himself in against Hayner's growing erection, pleased as Hayner's hands gripped his hips, drink spilled and forgotten on the floor. The other boy swore under his breath and Roxas writhed against him, muttering wordless sounds in his ear. One of Hayner's hands slid up his shirt, sloppy and unfocused, pressing him downward as Hayner's other hand fumbled with the front of his jeans.

One second Roxas was knelt before Hayner's spread legs, eyes lowered and waiting, Hayner's hand firm on the back of his head, pressing. The next second he was on his feet and Hayner was on the floor, Axel in between them.

"Don't," Axel threatened, voice thick with barely concealed rage as he pointed at Hayner, "you fucking touch him like that."

Hayner, eye beginning to purple, sat up and pointed at the front door. "Get. Out." Axel needed no additional prompting. He turned and headed for the door. "GET THE FUCK OUT!" Hayner screamed, picking up his cup of spilled alcohol and hurling it after the redhead. "FUCKING _SLUT_. GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Roxas stared blankly at Hayner for a few moments as the other boy pressed at his bruising eye, oblivious to the crowd of stoned kids that had gathered. _What the fuck just happened?_ He was semi-erect in his jeans, panting, chest blooming with disgust. His legs carried him out the door. The hastily consumed alcohol began to sink into his bloodstream and he wondered again, _What the fuck just happened?_ He found Axel sitting on the curb outside Little Vista.

The redhead looked up as Roxas approached and smiled wryly. "Cockblock. Sorry." Roxas said nothing. Axel's hands were shaking. "He's shit in bed, anyway. Fuckin' rich boy." Axel lifted a can of beer to Roxas and the blonde took it, swallowing the metallic bite of the liquid. He handed the can back to Axel, empty. Axel stared at the can in disbelief. "Your Thanksgiving must've been hell."

Roxas shrugged noncommittally. "Can we get out of here?" _He's had sex with Hayner. Are they going out? Was I making out with the guy he's with? What the fuck? Why isn't he beating the shit out of me?_

Axel peered up at him from the curb. "What'd you have in mind?"

"You know… whatever." Roxas looked at the redhead pointedly.

"Ohhh, right." Axel stood, dusting his pants. "Right. There's a good spot on the beach."

They walked down the beach access stairs in silence. Roxas felt mild apprehension nipping at him. He needed more to drink. The sky was moonless and Roxas stumbled more than once over the smattering of smooth flat rocks littering the sand as Axel led them down the dark beach. _What are you doing?_ The broken pieces of him were smashing against each other, trying to reconnect for some semblance of control. _You're losing it, Roxas_.

They came to a dip in the bluffs, a small patch of sand obscured on either side by jagged rock. Somewhere above them the sounds of a house party painted a backdrop of noise against the roar of the surf. Axel settled against the face of the bluff, folding his wiry limbs into himself. Roxas sat opposite of him, nervous anticipation pricking his palms. Axel shook his head and dragged Roxas next to him.

"I need to show you how," Axel said, voice hushed. He pulled a small case out of his jeans and took out a slightly opaque pipe. "I don't have any on me right now, but there's still a couple hits left in here." Axel's voice was low, reverent. It was difficult for Roxas to swallow. Axel's eyes were illuminated briefly as he flicked open a lighter and held it beneath the pipe, turning the stem from side to side. He looked focused, excited. The lighter went out and Roxas felt the pipe hover in front of his mouth. "Are you sure?"

_Am I? What the fuck are you doing here, Roxas?_ "Yes."

"This is not like smoking pot. You're going to inhale as much as you can, but you're not going to hold it in. Big breath in, and then let it out nice and easy." The lighter flickered and the pipe was between his lips. "Go."

The smoke hit the back of his throat in a bitter wave as Axel held the lighter under the pipe, twisting the stem left to right in Roxas' mouth, the liquid coating and re-coating the bowl. He inhaled and inhaled until his lungs were full. As he watched the enormous cloud of smoke leave his mouth, Roxas was sure he'd done it wrong, that he'd taken too much. He felt a trickle of something like spiders crawl down his scalp. Axel's hand was on Roxas' neck and his head was rolling back, eyes fluttering closed.

"Shhh," Axel was saying, fingers at his throat. "Shhh, it's okay." Axel's hand left him as the redhead brought the pipe to his own lips. A flicker of light. A cloud of smoke. Roxas' pulse was racing, the taste of boiled cabbage thick in his drying mouth. He felt…

_Amazing_. Axel's thumb brushed under his eye as the pipe was pressed to his lips again. A flicker of light. A cloud of smoke. The spiders were back, crawling like a million snowflakes melting on the crown of Roxas' head as Axel rubbed his shoulder and the back of his neck. He could do anything. He could do _anything_. He would tell Sora that he loved Riku. He would. He would ace the semester. He would. He could do anything.

His mouth was moving without him. "I've never done this before," he said. "I've smoked pot and snorted Ritalin and for a week I lived off Lorazepam. I was going to shoot heroin once, but…" Roxas trailed off, unwilling to pursue where that train of thought would lead him. "I stayed up on Ambien with my best friend, Sora, and we made out, which probably should've been weirder than it was, and I've been so shitfaced that I was fully clothed in a shower and I've rolled a couple times. Almost freebased coke, got talked out of it." Roxas' mouth was dry, his tongue thick and papery in his mouth. Everything, cabbage.

"Keep talking," Axel said, leaning forward. "This is probably the most I've ever heard you speak." Roxas thought that should've made him feel embarrassed, but he laughed, bumping shoulders with the older boy.

"I feel really good. Like sometimes I smoke pot and it feels good, but mostly I just remember shit I don't want to think about which is not happening right now at all. Like, at _all_. It feels _amazing_," Roxas gushed. Axel twirled the pipe in his hands, turning it over and over.

"Listen, man," Axel said, eyes on his fidgeting hands. "I'm really sorry about earlier. I just don't like that shit, how he was pushing your head down like that. I mean, if you wanted to, whatever, it's cool, but he shouldn't push you down like that." Axel was tripping over his words, twirling the pipe faster between his fingers.

"Are you, like, dating?" Roxas asked, pleased that he felt no apprehension about asking the question anymore at all. Because he could do anything.

"Nah. Fucked a couple times. Like I said, absolute shit in bed, that guy. Nice mouth, though. Good way to lose the oral V-card. I'm sure he's still down."

"I don't, uh, actually have an oral V-card."

Axel paused, looking at Roxas. "I thought Zexion said you were a virgin?"

"Yeah, well, Zexion doesn't know shit about me. I let everyone think what they want."

"…So you've had oral?"

"Yeah. Just once, though. Nothing special."

"Ambien have anything to do with it?"

Roxas smiled and shook his head. "That's wrong on so many levels. Sora's my _best friend_."

"…You like being evasive. I've asked like twenty different questions and you've answered maybe one of them."

"No, my best friend did not give me head." Roxas said, leaning close to Axel, searching for his eyes in the darkness.

"…Any other V-cards you're no longer carrying?"

"We're not discussing this," Roxas laughed, reaching for the pipe. "Is there more in here?"

Axel chuckled darkly. "You're exhibiting drug seeking behavior, Roxas. I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Come the fuck _on_. I had a shit holiday, and now you're telling me I passed up stellar oral. The least you can do is get me spun."

Axel shifted toward him. "The least I can do? Oh, Roxas, you have _no fucking_ _idea_ what I could do to make it up to you."

Roxas breathed in Axel's words as they pressed against his face, low and spiced. He didn't know if it was possible for his heart to race any faster. "There seems to be this averted blowjob I'm remembering."

"You're talking out of your ass right now. You're going to regret everything you're telling me."

"You're probably right," Roxas said, leaning away. _One thing I don't need is more shit to think about_.

Axel was quiet for a minute, rubbing the pipe against Roxas' jeans. "I don't even like giving head. Sometimes I hate it."

"Why?"

Axel fidgeted with the case, putting the pipe away. "Long story."

"Well, let me grab a fucking bag of popcorn."

"Oh, ha-ha, brat. It's kind of a bum out; you don't want to hear it."

"Right, right. We're high and we get to trade secrets."

Axel shrugged, pulling his flask out of a pocket, offering it to Roxas first. "We don't _have_ to."

Roxas took a long pull of the smooth vodka, felt it slide down his throat and take the cabbage with it. "Who's being evasive now, asshole?"

Axel shrugged again. "Okay. I require a cig as payment." He held his hand out. Roxas obliged, pulling two from his rapidly diminishing pack. "So I was eight years old," Axel began, lighting his cigarette. "My mom, who's fucking crazy, liked to move around a lot. We were in some shit town up north. Real run down with like trailers and shit, up in the forest. Anyway, I remember I was out of school for the summer. There was this girl that lived near us, Larxene, and we were in the same grade. We hung out a lot, chasing squirrels and getting into random shit. Regular shit, right?" Axel exhaled, head titled up toward the sky. "So she had this older brother. Luxord. He was about fifteen." Axel kept his eyes skyward. "We were just bored kids. Nothing to do in a shit town over the summer. He kept us entertained. Card games, little magic tricks. I was eight, y'know? What the fuck did I know?" Roxas got the distinct impression that this would not be a warm and fuzzy story.

"So one day he says he thought of a new game to play, a guessing game. Involved blindfolds." Roxas' cigarette had gone out, unsmoked in his left hand. "He had two markers; one thin, one thick. He had a bowl of sugar and a bowl of salt. It was a guessing game, right? He said he'd blindfold us—me and his sister—and we'd have to guess which marker and what it was dipped in. So he took his sister in the bathroom. I guess she lost. So I went in, and he blindfolded me with a sweater. The first thing I tasted was the thin marker in sugar. I was pretty excited, right? There wasn't even a prize. We were just fucking kids, bored out of our minds. So I had to guess the next one right. I knew immediately it was his dick. I knew it was his dick, but I wasn't going to say it. I said it was the thick marker in salt. And the motherfucker laughed and shook his dick in my mouth and told me to guess again." Axel flicked his dead cigarette as he finished. Roxas couldn't see him in the dark, but his voice sounded bitter. "And now you're the only other person in the world who knows."

Roxas didn't know what to say, could formulate nothing coherent. He lapsed into the learned behavior of living his life with fucked up kids. You traded stories to prove who was more fucked up. You traded stories to prove you weren't alone in a fucked up world. "When I was sixteen I got a flat tire on the freeway." Roxas held his hand out for Axel's lighter. He re-lit his cigarette, tasting the refry at the sides of his tongue. "I thought I was going to die, but I managed to pull over to the side of the road. So I just got off the phone with Triple A when I saw this pickup truck cut across like five lanes of traffic. It stopped in front of me and this guy got out." Roxas took a deep breath, still thankful for the rush of uninhibited speech the meth had given him. "He came up to my window and asked if I was okay. He looked… well, he looked good." Roxas smiled. _Shit. Cover blown_. "I said I was fine and everything, but he said he would wait with me until Triple A showed up. So I let him in my car." Axel made a small noise of disbelief.

"Yeah, I know," Roxas admitted. "Let a stranger in my car, someone obviously way older than me. Whatever, he was cute. So the first thing I noticed was he smelled like alcohol. He was actually holding a forty and he offered me some. He made some random small talk; asked if I was old enough to be driving." Roxas swallowed, faintly aware that he would never have told Axel this story if he were in his right mind. "He started… touching me. Nothing below the waist, but he was touching my mouth and my neck. He said I was 'nice.' He said it wasn't safe to be on the side of the freeway, and he said I should let him give me a ride. I'm pretty sure he patted his lap when he said that. I kinda… just smiled and said I was fine. He left pretty quick after that; said there was nothing he could do for me." Roxas was grateful as Axel passed his flask of vodka over. "I guess that secret isn't very valuable, since Sora and his boyfriend know." On "boyfriend," Roxas noted that Axel stilled visibly. "But the part I don't tell them is that the guy had long silver hair, just like Sora's boyfriend." Roxas tipped the last of the flask in his mouth. "And, uh, I guess I entertained the idea of going with the guy. It's like… I dunno. I wanted him to touch me. I liked what he said about me." Roxas shrugged.

"That's…" Axel said, accepting the empty flask from Roxas.

"Yeah, I know. Stupid."

"Honest, I was going to say. Stupid is definitely a close second. The dude was clearly going to rape your ass."

"Can't rape the willing," Roxas whispered. It should have been funny. They didn't laugh.

"Come on. We've both got class in like five hours." Axel pulled Roxas to his feet. The blonde realized he hadn't eaten in thirteen hours and didn't feel hungry at all.

"Should we eat?"

"Nah, we'll be fine. You probably won't feel hungry tomorrow either. Probably won't sleep at all. You're going to kick my ass later."

Roxas smiled. "Probably."

--

Five minutes until eight o'clock on Monday morning found Roxas staggering through the front doors of a lecture hall. He'd slept for an hour and a half. _In what alternate universe did I think a class called Renaissance Pastoral at eight in the fucking morning sounded like a good idea?_ The lecture hall was disproportionately large compared to the kids inside. Thirty kids packed into the last four rows, and Roxas glared at them all equally. He could sit in the middle of the room, alone, or he could join the overachievers up front where… where a very red-haired boy was staring at him. _You've got to be fucking kidding me_.

Roxas walked over to the second row where Axel sat, dead center. "You are way too awake right now," he said, taking the seat next to the smiling older boy.

"Early birds and worms and shit," Axel said cheerily. "You look like you had a good night's sleep."

"I'm kicking your ass after class."

"Looking forward to it."

The professor, a well-built man with a shiny bald head that Axel laughed at for a minute straight, launched into the lecture while passing out a stack of syllabi. Before Roxas even took out a pen, Axel had already taken a full page of notes. It was hard for Roxas not to gawk. Axel caught the blonde staring and smiled, shaking his head. Roxas tried to focus on the lecture, jotted down a word or two, but kept coming back to the fact that Axel was writing a novel in his notebook. _He's writing down every word the guy says!_ Axel, without looking away from the professor, tapped Roxas' notebook with his pen.

When class was over, the two of them walking to the dining commons for lunch, Roxas still hadn't recovered from the shock that was Axel… working hard… like a student. It just didn't compute.

"Is that going to be a habit?"

"What?" Axel asked, holding open the door to the dining commons for Roxas to walk through.

"That taking notes thing. And by 'notes' I mean a word for word transcription of everything the professor said."

Axel chuckled. "Don't worry, slacker. I'll help you study for exams."

"But you're a _History_ major. Why are you even in that class?"

"Believe it or not, the pastoral and georgic modes have a lot of bearing as commentary on political thought of the _historical_ time period they're found in." Axel spoke as if Roxas actually understood what he was saying.

In fact, the next three weeks of December passed much in the same vein. Though he disappeared systematically every Saturday and Sunday, Axel took meticulous notes every single Monday at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning, and any time the redhead talked about what they were supposed to be learning, Roxas was sure he'd started speaking Greek. Roxas saw Zexion every once in awhile in their dorm room, but he more or less seemed to have become a permanent fixture on the couch at Little V. With no one to eat with, Roxas found himself spending a lot of time with Axel. He felt, dare he say it, like a _friend_. A real friend. A real friend who goaded him into singing with Demyx every afternoon. A real friend who hid his cigarettes so he'd stop chain-smoking them. A real friend who knocked on his door at 7:30 every morning to get his "sorry ass out of bed, dammit, Roxas."

"This can't be healthy," Roxas said as he examined page after page of notes inked in Axel's small all-caps handwriting. Their professor had mentioned an exam the Monday after the approaching winter break, and Roxas found himself in Axel's room on a Saturday night, sitting on Axel's disconcertingly white sheets. The older boy hadn't given Roxas a straight answer when he asked why he was in on a Saturday. "Are you sure you're not going to get fired or something?' Roxas asked.

Axel, rifling through his closet, turned exasperatedly. "For the last fucking time, no. NO. It's… _fuck_, Roxas."

"Let me guess. You don't actually have a job." Roxas closed the notebook. He already figured there was no job in existence that would keep Axel out all night on Saturday and all day on Sunday.

"You are infuriating," Axel said, grabbing the notebook out of Roxas' hands and tossing it on the floor. "Seriously infuriating. But, no, I don't actually have a 'job' job. I do other shit." Axel grabbed his keys. "Put your shoes on."

"What?"

"Merry Christmas, you little brat. I'm taking you out."

Roxas frowned. "I can't go out. My hair looks like shit."

"Roxas. Seriously? You are SO FUCKING GAY."

"What?!" Roxas cried, jumping in front of Axel's mirror. "Look at it! I need like gel or something."

"I'm going to kill you. I really am." Axel picked Roxas' shoes off the floor and tossed them at the blonde. "Your shoes. Put them _on_, for fuck's sake."

"Okay, okay. Fuck, go all dictator on me, why don't you?" Roxas grumbled, slipping on his Vans. "Some Christmas present—" he began before Axel grabbed him.

"Don't say anything else. You're already making me think this is a bad fucking idea." Axel was oddly serious. Roxas quieted and followed Axel out the door.

--

"I didn't get you anything," Roxas admitted as they walked toward the dark blue brick exterior of a bar.

"I don't need anything," Axel shrugged as they headed toward the back door.

"That's not the point," Roxas said. "It's like the _sentiment_ or something."

"Yeah. Sentiment," Axel said, distracted. "Stay here. Don't move." The redhead went ahead and approached the bouncer standing at the back entrance. Roxas watched as Axel went right up to the bouncer and trailed a hand down the huge man's chest. Roxas was pretty sure his mouth dropped open. Axel said something in the bouncer's ear and Roxas saw the man chuckle, his chest heaving. A minute later Axel was beckoning to him as the bouncer opened the door. The bouncer didn't look at Roxas at all as Axel led him into the smoky interior of the bar.

"Relax," Axel murmured to him as they slid into a table in the middle of the room. Something loud and indistinguishable blared over the sound system as the nearly packed bar worked itself into a frenzy. A waitress approached and Axel whispered something in her ear. The waitress, a perky brunette, slapped Axel's cheek playfully before heading toward the bar. "And _this_," Axel said, "is where my weekend starts."

"…In a bar."

"Very astute, Roxas." Axel beamed at the waitress as she deposited two glasses on their table. Roxas took a glass into his hand. "Don't get your hopes up. It's just water."

"Okay. I'm totally… like I have no idea what the fuck we're doing in a bar if we're drinking _water_."

Axel didn't respond, eyes casting over the crowd. "So _impatient_. Just… watch this." Axel stood and wandered over to another corner of the bar where a man in a suit stood. Roxas hadn't realized the man was staring at them. Axel talked with the man, touching the guy's arm, and Roxas began to feel the slow churn of dread in the pit of his stomach. _This is… not right._ Axel turned and made his way back to the table. The redhead sat, smirking and silent. A minute later the waitress returned with two amber colored drinks. Axel smiled indulgently at Roxas and pushed a glass his way. "Merry Christmas, Roxas."

Roxas sipped at the drink. It was very, _very_ strong. "I am so freaked out right now."

Axel laughed quietly. "Worst case scenario. Shoot."

"Okay. That guy's like your pimp or something."

Axel snorted into his drink. "That's, uh, very generous of you. It's nothing quite so elaborate."

Roxas gulped at the amber liquid, wincing as it seared its way past his throat. "Then what? You go to bars and get guys to buy you drinks?"

"Warmer."

"There's _more_?"

"I'm not a saint, Roxas," Axel said. Roxas realized the smile on Axel's mouth wasn't reaching his eyes. "I never claimed to be one."

"Please be kidding."

"What's the matter, Roxas?" Axel said, sucking down the rest of his drink. "Having a crisis of morals?"

"No," Roxas growled. "Do what you want. I don't fucking care. Just… couldn't you have just _said_ it? Why are we having this little three act play about it?"

Axel raised his empty glass to the suited man in the corner, winking. "Because that's all we are. That's all anything is. 'All the world's a stage,' and all that bullshit, right?" Roxas said nothing. Axel sighed. "Listen. It's not as dirty as it sounds."

Roxas choked on a sip of liquor. "Which part? The part where these totally random guys buy you drinks, or the part where you fuck them for it?"

"Don't be retarded, Roxas."

"I'm not being fucking _retarded_!" He hadn't meant to shout. The barroom chatter quieted slightly, eager to hear more. "This kind of shit will get you _killed_," Roxas hissed.

Axel shook his head, picking up a glass from the second round the waitress brought over. "I forget how young you are sometimes." Axel surveyed Roxas over the rim of his glass. "You're just a kid."

"I'll leave," Roxas said, feeling the blood rush out through his body and past the floor. "I'll get up and fucking leave."

"Don't," Axel said, hand darting out to Roxas' wrist. "Jesus, I didn't think you'd react like this."

"Like _what_, Axel?" Roxas whispered, not able to keep the twinge of horror out of his voice. "_Human_? Why do you do this shit?"

"Casual sex is not against the law, Rox."

"You do it _every fucking weekend_."

"…And?" Roxas scooted his chair back, rising to storm out. _Asshole. He's a fucking crazy asshole._ "Wait! For fuck's sake, wait. I'm trying to be honest with you, okay? I value your friendship. Or whatever. I value _you_. I wanted you to know the truth."

"This is the worst Christmas present in the history of mankind."

Axel quieted. "Jeez, Roxas. Way to kick a guy when he's down."

"I'm sorry," Roxas sighed. _No you're not. Get the fuck out of here_. "It's just not what I was expecting."

"Oh?" Axel asked, leaning forward. "What were you expecting?"

"I dunno," Roxas shrugged. _Nothing_. What had he been expecting? _Nothing_. Did he expect dinner and a movie? This wasn't a date. Flowers? Kissing? This wasn't a date because they were friends, because they didn't "like" each other. What had he been expecting? Nothing. _Everything_.

"Don't you have to drive home in the morning? Come on, I'll take you back."

"No," Roxas shook his head. "I'm just being stupid. This is… actually, it's kind of cool. I've never been in a bar before." Roxas raised his eyes to meet Axel's. The redhead looked relived, and Roxas felt his heart ping.

"_Fuck_." Axel swallowed the rest of a drink. "I seriously thought you were going to walk out on me."

_I was_. "Nah. Just unexpected, is all." _You're better than this, Axel. What the fuck are you doing?_

"Look." Axel jutted his chin over to the left. "Victim number two." A towering man with long dark hair sat at the bar, staring obviously at Axel. Roxas realized that he had Axel's type all wrong. He'd thought Axel was into boyish guys, thin and delicate. That wasn't Axel's type at all. Judging from the last guy and this one, Axel liked… well, _men_. Surly, powerful, _manly_ men, which some plaintive cry in the back of his mind acknowledged was not how Roxas was at all. _Oh_.

_Oh_.

--

It was raining unexpectedly when they emerged from the din of the bar. Axel had stopped after his fourth drink, but Roxas had gone on to eight—_nine_?—and could hardly walk. Axel helped him to his room, Roxas rambling madly about something his mind wasn't listening to. His mouth was talking without him, talking up a storm. He knew he was saying Sora's name a lot, which inevitably meant he was saying Riku's name a lot. They stood in front of Roxas' door, the smell of pot heavy in the hallway. Roxas stared at his door like he couldn't figure out how it functioned. He turned to Axel with the intent of asking him to open it, but instead he found himself in the older boy's arms, breathing heavy into the broad expanse of Axel's chest.

When Axel spoke, Roxas felt the reverberations of speech past the steady beat of Axel's heart. "You smell amazing, Roxas." His voice was quiet, and Roxas thought it sounded like he was fighting off something. "Like… Pop Rocks." And Roxas was sure there was a fight going on as Axel pressed him into his chest, warm and huge like blankets that fit perfectly over your entire body. Axel's arms felt eerily familiar, like he'd been in them before despite knowing that he hadn't.

Then they were in his room and he felt his shoes come off, his shirt tugged over his head. He didn't want to be moaning, but he couldn't be sure that he wasn't. Axel tugged his jeans down under his hips. _Are we having sex?_ Roxas wondered. Then his head was on his pillow, sheets pulled up to his chin and tucked in at his sides. Axel was telling him to sit up, was pressing a bottle of water to his lips, was telling him to drink. It spilled down his chin and Axel was wiping it off with the back of his hand, and the touch turned into a soft glide against the curve of his cheek, thumb brushing under his eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Roxas," Axel whispered, and Roxas was sure that the fight had been lost, could hear it in the other boy's voice. "Merry Christmas." A kiss, wet with rain—_rain_?—pressed against his cheek. And again, a kiss. And again. "You're so amazing, Roxas." And again. "You're so impossible." Roxas wanted to respond, wanted to make his mouth do what he wanted it to do, but he was sure he must've looked like he was asleep. Axel's fingers ran through his hair and he heard the other boy inhale deeply. "_Fuck_. You smell so _amazing_." Roxas thought he might die. He really thought he might. "Don't remember this tomorrow." And then the lights were off and Axel was gone, the dampness of rain—_rain_?—cooling on his cheek.

It might have been okay if it weren't for the echo. _Shut the fuck UP_, Roxas thought as much as anyone helplessly drunk can think. _You smell amazing. You smell amazing_. Echoes pealing like bells in his head, and he couldn't stop the thirty pieces of silver from clattering down all around him.

"_You smell so good." The fever of the words plucking single notes up against his neck. Callused fingers against him, sliding. "Keep singing for me, baby." A tongue in his mouth, searching out the song as it spilled out from past his throat. The fingers shifted down, around, and his back arched up, hips colliding with hips, as he was pressed into and pressed and pressed, panting into a mouth that tasted like coffee and revenge._

_Stop_, Roxas thought. _Please stop_. He groaned, rolling his hips against memory and nothing. He wanted to jack off, but he couldn't make his arms work. Roxas fell asleep with the bittersweet taste of a name on his lips.

"_Riku_."


	5. Chapter 5: Cadences

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine.

**A/N**: The good news: MORE FANART! *sob* I don't know what I've done to deserve such awesome treatment, but damn does it feel good. Links at my profile: **pouikee** at dA, the last scene from "Marionettes" where Axel is tucking a drunken Rox into bed, the Riku and Roxas Thanksgiving scene in "Density," and Little Vista; and **mutilatedsideburns** at dA, the beach scene from "Marionettes" where Rox lets Axel corrupt his non-virgin sensibilities in a highly illegal way. All are absolutely beautiful.

And the bad news: This chapter was hell. I had to cut an important scene because this thing is changing under my my hands. They do what they want to do. No apologies for the themes at all, ever. Just know that this isn't a story you want to show to your parents. ALSO: There is a Faulkner reference hidden away in here. By "hidden" we're talking almost totally obscured by my narrative, though if you know your Faulkner, it will be obvious. PM me the reference or drop it in a review; the first person to catch it will get a one-shot from me, any pairing, themes of your choice.

Thank you so so much to all the new reviewers, favoriters, and alerters. You guys fucking kill me. I don't know how to show my gratitude other than to keep writing the hardest shit I can, even if it means writing for fourteen hours straight, which totally happened. Thank you, seriously, thank you.

--

**Chapter Five: Cadences**

There are two kinds of hangovers. There's the kind that leave you weak and wailing, clutching at a porcelain god and ridding yourself of things long metabolized. Then there are hangovers that obliterate every last bone and nerve in your body until you can only half-think that you are never, _ever_ going to drink again. Roxas is having the second kind. He woke up at an unknown hour, groaned, leaned over, and promptly vomited up the bile in his stomach before falling back into a fitful sleep. He dreamt of fire: a furnace slowly eating away at his skin, turning all the important parts of him to ash. He dreamt of blood: a winding river, thick and appealing. But Roxas never remembers his dreams.

Zexion, bleary-eyed and wondering what, exactly, happened to his other sock, wandered down the hallway toward his door. Eyes slitted, arms wobbling and stretched out on either side of him, Zexion would like nothing better than a hot shower with all the lights off, then possibly some nachos, and then possibly a blunt. He knew, however, that the white styrofoam cup full of what tasted like a Bloody Mary sitting beside the door to his room with the post-it note that read, "_DRINK ME—Axel_," was probably a good indication that he'd have exactly zero showers and zero nachos in his immediate future, and instead one disheveled and horrifically hungover roommate. The blunt, though, was still a possibility. Zexion rubbed at his eyes, thought seriously about drinking the Bloody Mary himself, and then unlocked the door. He assessed the situation inside—Roxas' clothes strewn in every direction—with frightening speed.

"YOU HAD SEX?!"

Roxas, who had been awake for at least an hour, had been wondering when his blood would stop trying to kill him when Zexion's voice cleaved through his mind like a particularly unholy sledgehammer. "Nnnnghh." He made the sound without moving since just five minutes ago he'd discovered that if he held his body just _so_, that he would not immediately feel like throwing up his entire stomach. "Shouting. You," Roxas groaned.

"Your 'raised by gorillas' speech is quite endearing, I admit, but I have a hangover cure with your… well, with Demyx's douchbagging roommate's name on it." A cup was thrust above Roxas' face. "I will give you this magical elixir if you tell me the name of the lucky girl you boned." Roxas reached for the cup, but Zexion deftly piloted the Bloody Mary out of his reach, inadvertently dripping some on his roommate's face. "No, Roxas, your cute little scrunched up 'Oh, is that glorified tomato juice all over me?' face is not going to work. I HAVE THE RESOLVE OF…" Zexion thundered, bleary eyes slightly crazed and grasping for some metaphor, "…A MAN WITH RESOLVE!"

"You fucking _ass_," Roxas moaned. "I am in _pain_, massive pain, and you come in all bellowing and…" Roxas trailed off, massaging his temples. "First, I did _not_ have sex. Second, if I did have sex, it wouldn't be with a _girl_."

Zexion made a dismissive noise and waved the Bloody Mary perilously over Roxas' face. "The alcohol you've consumed has clearly devoured your long-term memory. Despite whatever kind of sex you may have engaged in last night, you are straight. Straight, I tell you!"

"You're still _talking_," Roxas groaned, shoving a pillow over his face. "Why are you still _talking_?"

"Telling me you like dick would seem to have proven adverse to your desired outcome." Zexion sipped at the Bloody Mary thoughtfully. "If you're gay, then why did I walk in on you jacking off to Naminé's Facebook last year?"

Roxas made a strangled sound and sat up, clutching the pillow to his chest. "That was one time!"

"You came."

"STOP! We aren't talking about this!"

"But you did. I have excellent timing, apparently," Zexion continued. "You'd think you would've had the sense to lock the door."

"YOU HAD A KEY."

Zexion paused. "Yes. Yes, I did. Funny how that works out. But, Roxas, you're skirting the issue."

This sobered Roxas instantly. "I don't know what I am."

"Bisexual, it would seem," Zexion said, secretly pleased that he could now ogle Roxas' goodies without feeling completely depraved. "So… who's the lucky guy? Demyx's douchebagging roommate? He left you this lovely double entendre on the Bloody Mary I'm drinking."

Roxas took the post-it and read it aloud. "'_Drink Me—Axel_.'" He looked up at his roommate and found the other boy's eyes sparkling with unvoiced laughter. "I don't get it."

Zexion smirked and passed the cup over to Roxas. "That much is apparent. But let's talk about the sex, please."

"I didn't have sex," Roxas muttered, sucking at the exquisitely made drink. _Did I? Did I have drunken sex with him?_

"You could have, you know," Zexion said lightly, though a heavy sort of implication ran through his words. "You're hungover now, so you must have been drunk then. Anything could have happened."

_Wait_. "Are you saying…" _What?_

"Yes, he could have raped you," Zexion said frankly. Then, "Does your ass hurt?"

Roxas didn't know what felt worse: the throbbing in his head, that his roommate thought his friend had raped him, or that he, too, wondered if his friend had raped him. His friend. Axel. _Slut_. The internal comment surprised him before the sober events of yesterday night flooded into him. _Slut. Slut. Slut_. Even though his mind would not remember the non-sober parts of last night, Roxas knew Zexion was wrong. "He wouldn't have raped me." The other boy looked unconvinced. "It probably wouldn't have hurt if he had," Roxas said, more to himself than to his roommate.

"Pardon?"

"I'm not a virgin." Roxas would have laughed at the way Zexion's mouth fell open if he wasn't so busy feeling his pulse race.

"I don't know whether to throw a gay pride parade in your honor or sulk moodily that you've been so secretive," Zexion admitted.

Roxas shrugged, worried at the increasingly heavy feeling in his chest. "I value your friendship." Axel's words sounded weird in his mouth; hollow, wrong. "I wanted you to know the truth."

Zexion's brow furrowed. "Well, I'd be touched if you didn't look exactly like I just told you that your cat died or something." He flicked one of Roxas' flattened spikes. "You okay?"

_Tell him._ "I'm fine. Just hungover." He glanced at the clock on his desk. "And late. I was supposed to drive home an hour ago."

Roxas heaved himself from his bed, taking care to step around the puddle of regurgitated stomach acid. He was staggering around his room, throwing clothes into his backpack, when a quiet knock sounded at the door. He knew before he opened it that Axel would be on the other side. Axel struck him as the type to keep knocking in a steady staccato beat until the door was opened.

"Hey." _Slut._

"You're still among the living," Axel said, his lips turning up.

"Yeah." _Slut._

"Smoke?" Axel asked, holding out Roxas' own pack of Parliaments to him. "You dropped 'em in my car." Roxas went to move down the hallway when Axel's hand closed over his shoulder. "You, uh, might want to consider putting some clothes on first." _Shit_. He was, of course, still only clad in his briefs. Roxas hurried back into the room and shoved his legs through his jeans, ignoring how hard Zexion was laughing on the top bunk.

"How's the hangover treating you?" Axel asked as the two of them made their way down the stairs. "You were totally gone last night."

"Better than it was. Thanks for the drink."

Axel smiled around two cigarettes, lighting them both and passing one over to Roxas. "No problem." The redhead took a huge hit, and Roxas wondered if he saw Axel's fingers tremble. "Least I could do, I figured."

_Yeah_, Roxas thought, eyes on the horizon. _Because the only way to counteract the hangover is with a drink. A hangover from all the drinks last night that were supposed to counteract the fact that you are a fucking slut._ "You really didn't have to. I drank too much. My fault." _Slut._ "I mean, I know you don't keep alcohol in your room. You didn't have to go out just to get me this stuff."

Axel was quiet, pushing the filter of the cigarette between his fingers in a circle before taking another hit with, Roxas was pretty sure, shaking hands. "So you're mad." Axel leaned down and put his cigarette out on the ground and slowly placed Roxas' pack of Parliaments on the concrete bench beside them. He stood, not looking at Roxas at all. "I get it." He started walking away.

Roxas' mouth had gone completely dry. The inside of his head felt fuzzy, and everything the sun touched looked out of focus. Everything too soft, blurred. Axel's back looked nice, the way his head was down, hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans. _Leave it. He's sick._ "A-Axel," he forced out. The redhead turned, mouth set, eyes blank. "I'm not mad."

Axel took several slow steps back in Roxas' direction. Hands still jammed in his pockets, eyes on the ground, and shoulders slightly hunched, Axel asked, "What?"

"I said I'm not… mad." _Aren't you? Aren't you fucking pissed?_ "I'm not mad at _you_."

Axel was silent for a few moments before he lifted his eyes to Roxas'. "Don't _fuck_ with me." His voice, soft and threatening, sunk past the layers of fuzz and Roxas felt it prick at his chest.

"I'm not trying to," Roxas said.

This, it seemed, satisfied Axel. He sat roughly beside Roxas and grabbed at the pack of cigarettes, pulling out another one and lighting it. "So," he said, exhaling. "I guess you don't remember dancing on the table last night."

Roxas was pretty sure his eyes dilated in horror. "Um. What?"

"You totally did," Axel smirked, and Roxas knew the redhead was going to avoid what had just transpired. "It was _awesome_. Alice Cooper's 'I'm Eighteen' came on and you kinda lost it."

"That's bullshit!" Roxas cried, cheeks burning. "I don't even know that song!"

"But it's _my_ favorite," Axel said, smirking all over his face, "and you decided to give me a little show."

"There is nothing, I really mean _nothing_, that would have possessed me to dance on a table."

"Okay, okay. So maybe it wasn't _on_ the table. We were getting up to leave, and then you stood up and closed your eyes and kinda started doing this little dance. It was…," Axel smiled, "it was cute."

"Whatever," Roxas grumbled.

They smoked in companionable silence, systematically working their way through the rest of Roxas' pack. The sun was high overhead when Axel finally stood again. "I know your secret."

"Doubt it," Roxas said. He knew, just like he knew he'd never dance on a table, that he would never have admitted to his thing with Riku. He learned years ago that he'd need to keep his mouth shut when drinking with Sora.

"You're a talker when you're sauced."

"It didn't happen. I wouldn't have said anything," Roxas insisted.

"Yeah, well," Axel shrugged. "I'm pretty good at math." Roxas looked confused. "Meaning I can put two and two together," Axel laughed. "How the fuck are you going to drive anywhere? I know you're not this slow normally."

"Well, if I crash and die on the way home, just know that I couldn't have done it without you."

Axel shook his head, smirking, and stretched his arms upward, his shirt riding up to reveal a thin swatch of pale skin just above his hips that Roxas definitely did not notice. Definitely not. "Ahem," Axel cleared his throat. Roxas looked up, startled. "Yeah. Eyes are up here, Rox." The redhead winked.

"Um," Roxas managed. Was it hot outside? It was pretty hot.

"We cool?"

"Yeah." Roxas suppressed the desire to hug the other boy. _Why am I such an idiot to him?_

"You sure? I don't have to worry about you calling me a slut behind my back?"

Roxas allowed himself a small smile. "Knew you were a mind reader."

"Very funny, punkass." Axel pulled him into a brief hug, and Roxas felt all the air go out of his lungs. "Have a good Christmas."

--

The sky was dark when Roxas pulled up to his house, a hastily pirated and burned copy of Alice Cooper's "Love it to Death" blaring over his car speakers. He was humming under his breath and carrying an armful of Christmas presents when he tripped over Sora, the presents clattering to the ground. Sora, sitting on Roxas' front porch with a mostly cashed piece still clutched in his hand. _Oh, shit_.

"Mmm, Roxas," Sora said, grabbing hold of Roxas' pants and pulling himself up. The brunette's arms went around Roxas' waist and he felt Sora's chapped lips pressed to his neck. "Broke up again."

"Shit, Sora. Why didn't you call me?" Hands on the brunette's back, rubbing. Smelling the pot clinging to his best friend's hair as he dropped his lips to it.

"Got high instead," Sora mumbled, nuzzling his face against Roxas' neck.

There was a time when Roxas would have felt ashamedly elated at the news. After Riku's and Sora's seventh break up and consequent make up, Roxas got tired of bothering. The first time had been horrific: Sora sobbing on Roxas' bed for nearly a week straight during their senior year of high school, the monotony of tears broken only by popping Xanax, eating crackers, and pissing in empty water bottles. At the end of the week Roxas drove to Riku's and nearly knocked down the other boy's front door, but stopped short of violence when he found Riku sitting in a semi-circle of empty syringes and pastel balloons reminiscent of a ritualistic rite of protection—Riku's crudely drawn haven of smack and filth. He loved him even then, but he fought down the lust coiled and ready to strike, and instead dragged the unresponsive boy to Sora and handed him over as an offering. Within minutes they were "back together."

It's not that Roxas didn't have patience for their "on again, off again" revolving door charade—for Sora he would have all the patience, all the anything, in the world—but he didn't like being the one to keep the pieces together until the two of them decided (again) that, yes, they really did love each other.

"Don't smoke that, Sora. It's all burnt herb," Roxas said as Sora pulled away and put the piece back up to his mouth.

"One hit left," Sora said, lips around the pipe. A flicker of light. A cloud of smoke exhaled into Roxas' coaxed open mouth. Lips almost touching. Almost.

"The cops are totally going to roll by any minute now," Roxas said, bending to pick up the fallen presents.

Sora turned to the street and made a grand display of flipping off any potential cops with both hands high in the air before turning to help Roxas with the presents. Sora stacked them in the blonde's arms sloppily before breathing heavy in Roxas' ear, "Which one's mine?"

Roxas chuckled, using his elbow to push down on the handle of the front door since Sora was clearly out of commission for the night. "I know you better than that. That shit's completely hidden." Sora tugged at Roxas' hair lightly and made a high whining sound. Roxas laughed, "Not this year, Sora. This time you're at least waiting 'til Christmas Eve." No matter how firmly Roxas held his ground, year after year Sora somehow managed to worm his gift out of Roxas days before actual Christmas. On several occasions Roxas had discovered his gifts re-taped and re-packaged, Sora smiling only half-guiltily at having peeked beforehand. Because Roxas could have patience, but Sora didn't even know the meaning of the word.

"Pleaaaase," Sora said, flopping on to Roxas' bed after the blonde deposited the presents in the living room under a tree his mom had already decorated with ancient looking ornaments and dim, darkly-colored lights that Roxas absolutely loathed. He wondered where his mom was as he pulled off his shirt, frowning at the way it still smelled like vomit. "Pleaaaase," Sora said again. "Come on! I just broke up with my one true love."

"You are a total girl," Roxas said, tossing his shirt at Sora's face. Unperturbed, Sora put Roxas' shirt on over the one he was already wearing. "Ew, Sora, no. I threw up in that."

Sora hugged his arms around himself, bloodshot eyes closing happily. "But it smells like you."

"Cigarettes and vomit? Sora, I'm touched."

"No, douche," Sora smiled, leaning back against the wall, legs folded under him on the bed. "Like the beach and that banana sunblock I really like and… I dunno, the forest." Sora produced a bag of Chex Mix from, apparently, thin air and shoved a handful in his mouth. "And cigarettes," Sora concluded, "That, too."

"Feed me, bitch," Roxas said, slipping off his shoes and climbing onto his bed. Sora dug in the bag and pulled out a handful, tossing out all the pretzels that Roxas hated before dumping the rest in the blonde's mouth. Roxas licked the crumbs from Sora's splayed fingers, sucking briefly on the index finger before announcing, "We're weird."

"Good," Sora said, leaning back on Roxas' pillow and staring at the ceiling. Roxas knew he wasn't even close to being high from one shotgunned hit, but the way Sora crunched on the food was suddenly hilarious. He would have laughed then if he hadn't felt Sora's hand, the non-Chex Mix'd one, flutter at his throat. Sora's fingers traced the same lines of fear and worry, of endless possibility. "Missed you," Sora whispered.

Roxas knew that it was unhealthy. You don't take several dozens of Psychology classes and not know that a relationship like the one he and Sora shared was obviously unhealthy. It didn't change anything, this knowledge, and Roxas hated Riku for complicating his perfect equation with Sora. But it was always a very small hate, more akin to annoyance (chronic) and frustration (sexual). He had been gone for less than a month, but the time spent away from his best friend felt like years, the distance like worlds. He knew that the burn in his chest every time he took the freeway off-ramp toward his street was unhealthy. He knew that sleeping with his phone under his pillow, just in case, was unhealthy. He knew that if—god forbid—Sora somehow died, got sick or had an accident, that he would kill himself. There wouldn't even have to be thought involved. He would kill himself. And this, of course, was unhealthy.

"Missed you, too," Roxas whispered.

--

The first day Roxas was home he only got one text from Riku: _Home yet?_ He didn't respond. The day was spent playing Grand Theft Auto IV and finding new places to hide Sora's Christmas gift. The next day he got three texts. He swam at Sora's house in the abnormally warm weather and asked his best friend if he had the hooks for some coke. The next day he received five more. Roxas ignored them all, polished off a 750ml bottle of rum with Sora, and debated buying a bag of shrooms off a sketchy motherfucker Sora had the hooks with. Instead he bought an overpriced sack of kush and smoked a fourth of it with Sora in his backyard. The whites of their eyes like skin rubbed raw, Roxas sat in Sora's lap and told him in whispers about Axel. On the fourth day Riku texted Roxas no less than twenty-three times, and Roxas caved. Sora was in the shower and Roxas was in the kitchen, hunched and dialing Riku's number.

"'_Lo?"_

"Stop fucking texting me."

"…_Hey, Rox_."

"I'm not kidding, Riku. You know I'm with him."

"_Come over._"

"WHAT?"

"_Come over."_

"Are you fucking high?"

"…_What?_"

"Riku, you idiot." Roxas held the phone away from his ear, listened for the sound of the shower still running upstairs. _I am the worst person in the world_. "I can't come out tonight. It's Christmas Eve. I always spend Christmas Eve with Sor—."

"_Stop._"

"What?"

"_Don't say his name._"

Roxas swallowed, drumming his fingers against the granite countertop. "Can't you just get back together already? It's been almost a week."

"…_Just come over."_

"_Fuck_, Riku. I said I—"

"_JUST FUCKING COME OVER!_" Riku's voice cracked over the line, hysterical.

"…Tomorrow," Roxas promised, eyes closed. "I'll come over tomorrow."

"_Early._"

"Yeah, okay, Riku. Early." Roxas sighed heavily. "Just—just don't do too much."

There was a weird rush of air over the line, like laughter with all the joy cut out. "_Tomorrow, Roxas._" Then the line went dead.

He sat in the kitchen, phone gripped in a fist, until Sora called for him from upstairs. Roxas eyed the full plates of food his mother had left for him and Sora before going out with a group of friends. He frowned at the idea of his mother at a bar attempting to pick up a guy. It reminded him of…

"Presents now?" Sora asked, arms going around Roxas' stomach. Roxas' fingers quickly flew over the keys of his phone to erase the recent calls history, little tendrils of guilt sinking their claws into him as Sora pressed his chest against him. A cascade of Roxas' shampoo wafted in the kitchen, and Roxas was instantly seized with distinct feeling of déjà vu. Sora smelled like his shampoo… like Pop Rocks. "Rox?" Sora asked, releasing him and stabbing at a slice of ham like it was a creature.

"I—" Roxas faltered. He remembered being soaked, clothes drenched with rain. A tingle ran down his back as he remembered being warm, perfectly warm. _What the fuck am I remembering? Pop Rocks?_

"Earth to Roxas," Sora said, waving a speared piece of ham in the blonde's face. "I am going to eat this, and then we are going to open presents." Roxas nodded absently and headed to the last place he'd hidden Sora's present: sealed in a ziplock bag and set afloat in the toilet tank. _Pop Rocks. I like them? What does that have to do with rain?_ Soft strains of Sora at the piano in the living room floated up the stairs._ Shit. He's going to hate it._ Roxas frowned at the small square package in his hands. He'd thought long and hard about what to get his best friend and had posed a series of hypothetical questions to Zexion, Axel, and at one point, Hayner: _What would you think if someone you knew got you this for Christmas?_ All three of them had agreed that Roxas' gift was "pretty weak, man," but Roxas had contented himself with the fact that none of them were Sora, so none of them would understand. But now, heading down the stairs toward where Sora was playing a mournful sounding nocturne—Chopin? Debussy?—Roxas was sure that he'd gotten it wrong, that Sora would hate it, or worse, not have any opinion on it at all. _Fuck._

"You've been practicing," Roxas said, sitting next to Sora on the piano bench. Sora shrugged, fingers gliding over the keys in a crescendo before stopping abruptly. He glanced briefly at the blonde before playing the opening notes to a song that Roxas knew well. Roxas' brain instantly replaced the piano with violins, knew instinctually where the sopranos came in, knew when his cue approached. He didn't sing. Sora nudged him and replayed the measure.

"Sing," Sora said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world, and replayed the measure again. Roxas felt the music bloom in his lungs, felt the words slide against his tongue. It was like torture, sitting next to Sora as he played, breathing and listening for his cue like they'd done what seemed like every afternoon of high school. Before Riku, before they were bored enough to drink or angry enough to smoke, before Roxas knew what it was like to love something that wasn't his, they had done simple things. Beautiful things, even. They made kites. They learned choir music. It hurt to remember now, like remembering somewhere perfect that you could never visit again.

He hadn't realized he was singing, the words leaving his mouth in a quiet tenor that always managed to sound surer than Roxas thought he was capable of. Sora alternated playing the accompaniment with the alto line, humming an approximation of the bass part under his breath. Sora's piano dropped off at the end of the song, and Roxas finished on a B flat.

"I'm not the only one who's been practicing," Sora said, bumping shoulders with Roxas. The blonde shrugged and placed the small square box he'd been holding on the keys of the piano. Sora eyed the box thoughtfully, no doubt trying to guess what it might contain. "You know," he said, picking up the box and shaking it, "You have the most beautiful voice in the world." Sora tried to sound nonchalant, but his voice caught on the word 'beautiful,' and Roxas' hand went to Sora's cheek.

"Open it."

Sora smiled, brushed a tear away. "Saving the best for last." He scooted off the bench and knelt before the tree, the ugly lights Roxas hated winking obnoxiously. "This year my parents didn't even give me shit about hauling all my presents over here." Sora shook a huge package and tossed it to the "clothes" pile. "You'd think after five years they would've figured out that this is like a tradition."

"Is that what we're calling it? A tradition?" Roxas asked, smiling. "I thought it was more you desperate to figure out what you got and me going along with it five years in a row."

"Don't be an ass, Roxie," Sora said, tossing a particularly elegant present at the blonde. "That's from my mom. I think it's porn."

"Ha-ha." Roxas rolled his eyes. Years ago Sora's mom had given Roxas a bunch of DVDs for Christmas, and due to some manufacturing blunder, what should have been a cutesy teen comedy was instead an hour and a half of graphic lesbian porn. Sora and Roxas watched it, ate popcorn, and never said a word to Sora's mom. The "I think it's porn" line had been tossed out every Christmas since.

Roxas ended up with a stack of 20s cleverly hidden in a bundle that he swore was socks, several DVDs (all not porn), a bunch of clothes he'd never wear, a big ball of cheese, random designer sunglasses that looked like they were made for a girl, one actual nugget of coal, and, somewhat mystifyingly, a book about sushi ("The pictures are nice?" Sora offered). The only gifts left under the tree were Roxas' gift to Sora, the things Roxas had for his mom—random perfume that he thought she'd owned before, a charm bracelet that she'd probably never wear, and Roxas' default present for everyone, a DVD (also not porn)—, and a rectangular box wrapped in silver paper that exclaimed "Happy Birthday!" in garish neons.

"We ran out of the Christmas kind," Sora said sheepishly, handing the box over to Roxas. "You first."

They always got faintly embarrassed at this part, when it was time to open the things they got each other. Roxas remembered the very first Christmas gift Sora ever got him was a Ring Pop, watermelon flavored, and the first thing he ever got Sora was a snap bracelet he picked up for 99 cents printed with the repeating likeness of Kali, the Hindu goddess of destruction. They'd progressed since then, sometimes picking the sentimental over the comedic, sometimes the nostalgic over the functional. Roxas thought there was something very soul baring about the whole thing: the kinds of gifts you give people reveal the kinds of things you value. He always felt helplessly vulnerable every time he spent a lot of time thinking about what to get someone, usually Sora.

Roxas sucked in a quick breath and then ripped the wrapping paper off in one deft swipe. The brown box underneath revealed little, and Roxas could feel the nervous energy rolling off Sora beside him. He opened the box gingerly and found a digital camera, obviously brand new, shining inside.

"Turn it on," Sora whispered, scooting close and resting his chin on Roxas' shoulder. Roxas powered on the camera and Sora's smiling face popped up on the screen. Sora moved his thumb against the directional pad as Roxas held the camera, and pictures flipped past. Sora on the pier, waving. Sora frowning, holding up a blue popsicle. Sora on his roof, pretending to fall. The sunset from the beach. The lights of the city at night from one of their favorite spots for sitting and talking the night away, the Crest. An empty parking lot Roxas recognized as Lot K, a place they'd hung out at almost every night of junior year until the cops told them to clear out. Sora and Riku, making faces. Riku's dog, Champ, chasing its tail. Roxas' empty driveway followed by Sora sitting in the spot where Roxas' car should've been parked, head down and knees drawn up. Sora sitting on Roxas' bed, his pillow clutched to Sora's chest, the brunette's faced buried in it. Sora, back to the camera, standing in Roxas' empty room. When Roxas' tears splashed on the small screen, Sora turned the camera off.

"Are those happy?" Sora asked, touching Roxas' tears like pointing out stars, connecting constellations.

"Yes," Roxas whispered. Sora nodded and picked up Roxas' gift, small and square. Roxas wiped at his face and held his breath.

Sora went very quiet when he lifted out the silver necklace from the box. The crown, cut exactly to mimic the crown Sora had tattooed at the base of his neck, had been drawn from Roxas' memory and handed over to the silversmith seventy miles north of Kingdom University. At first Roxas had been unsure what to get. Sora had three tattoos: two on his wrists—a strange-looking key on his left and a keyhole on his right—and the crown. In the end Roxas decided on the crown. He knew the three symbols were connected to Sora's other reality, and while Sora had been forthcoming about nearly everything from his delusions, these three symbols were only referenced vaguely. Roxas figured Sora had been a prince in his other world, someone just and brave. Someone strong in a way past strong. He'd always liked the idea of Sora as a prince—_his_ prince—and he thought this would be an easy way to show it without actually having to admit it. Because that would be embarrassing, wouldn't it? If Sora knew his past delusions were things that Roxas enjoyed hearing about? This way he wouldn't have to say it. Sora would know.

Sora put his arms around Roxas' neck and pressed the blonde to his chest, his arms weak against Roxas' back. They were like that for a while—quiet, Sora quaking against him, little gasps soft in his ear.

"I love you, Roxas," Sora whispered, arms too weak to hold his best friend tighter. He felt like turbulence in Roxas' arms, strong limbs convulsing in a breath of silent wind. Roxas, who felt like the world was collapsing beneath him, like his lungs had forgotten how to breathe air, could only press his lips again and again to Sora's neck, feeling the life there while pleading to someone unseen. _Please, not him. Never him. Don't ever take him. Never him._

--

Christmas Day dawned surprisingly bleak, a thirty-degree drop in temperature overnight casting a chilly sheen over their sleepy city. Roxas and Sora woke up curled on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, arms pricking with sleep after being wrapped around each other. They devoured their untouched food from the night before, and after a few whispered sentiments, Sora was out the door and in his car headed for home. Sora's parents had come to allow him to spend Christmas Eve with Roxas, but they demanded him on Christmas. This meant Roxas could spend Christmas with his mother… who was conveniently absent. The drive to Riku's took all of five minutes, and Roxas buzzed his way into the gate obscuring Riku's ridiculously large home.

Riku's father, a businessman who was not home more often than he was, had given up on Riku long before Roxas had ever known him. Though Sora knew more of the intimate details, Roxas knew that after Riku tried to kill himself at fifteen, his father had shipped him off to an island in the Caribbean. The residential facility had been a nightmare under the guise of luxury: water torture, cruelty, food deprivation—all to teach the "wayward children" some "manners befitting their breeding." It was there, amongst the cast off children of the wealthy elite, that Riku had picked up his heroin addiction. That had been the last straw for Riku's father. He shelled out money for whatever Riku wanted—drugs, toys, cars, a metal box full of spaghetti—and washed his hands of the rest of it. Riku said he didn't care, said he preferred the company of his "help," but Roxas knew that it was all a poorly constructed ruse. Riku was fucked up, and while it wasn't all because of his father, the man certainly had a large hand in it.

Riku's personal maid, a small slender girl called Talia, opened the front doors before scuttling away. Roxas made his way to Riku's room, knocking once on the blindingly white French doors before stepping in. The room was in disarray, clothes deposited everywhere, boxes of takeout at random intervals over the flat surfaces, and telltale balloons scattered carelessly about. Riku was sitting in bed, staring at Roxas. When the silver-haired boy smiled, Roxas' heart leapt.

"Finally," Riku said, patting the space beside him.

Roxas hopped on the bed, biting his lower lip nervously. He'd only been in Riku's room a handful of times since Riku usually insisted on being anywhere but his own home. "Merry Christmas," Roxas said shakily, pulling out a CD case.

"A mix?" Riku asked, sliding off his bed and moving toward an impossibly complex looking stereo.

"Don't listen to it now," Roxas said quickly before Riku could insert the disc. Riku shot him a look. "It's… not a mix. It's something I wrote. A friend at school, Demyx, he helped me record it."

Riku placed the disc back in its case and set it on a stack of CDs by the stereo. "You wrote me a song?" Climbing back on the bed, Riku stared at Roxas, smiling. Roxas said nothing as Riku's hand reached up to his face, the other boy's thumb tracing his jawline. "That's so sweet, Roxas."

Roxas swallowed thickly. _They're broken up. This is okay. Just this. _"Thanks?"

Riku smirked and picked up something from the side of his bed. "This is for you." Roxas eyed the package wearily. Riku's gifts over the years had been completely arbitrary: tickets to a concert, a carton of eggs, a giftcard for $500 in gas, a backpack, and, embarrassingly, an assortment of flavored lube that he'd opened in front of Sora. "Open it," Riku said. His eyes blazed in the dimly lit room, curtains drawn against the daylight.

Roxas held his breath and unwrapped the gift. When he saw what was inside he felt his guts seize up like he was about to vomit. _You've got to be fucking kidding me_.

"Riku…" _WHAT THE FUCK_.

The other boy smirked, hand stroking feathery touches against Roxas' neck. "Like it?"

"Riku," Roxas whispered, cheeks blushing furiously, stomach rioting, and… "You can't give this to me as a Christmas present."

"I can _do_ whatever the fuck I want," Riku said, still smiling. Roxas noticed for the first time that Riku's pupils were like tiny pinpricks of darkness, little dots in oceans of aqua, though they should've been huge in the dark room. "If you don't like it, you can just say so."

Roxas swallowed noisily, feeling the burn on his cheeks. His stomach clenched and unclenched, and… _Say you don't like it. Tell him you don't want it. Fucking tell him, Roxas_… and he felt a thin curl of desire spill down his body. And he was aroused. Turned on. "You can't give this to me if you love Sora," Roxas said, voice rasping.

"Why not?" Riku challenged, opening the box. "It's friendly enough. Just a little butt plug, Roxas." He waved the sex toy in the air like it was something mundane that didn't make Roxas feel ashamed and erect all at once. "Why are you blushing like a fucking virgin?" He held the toy up to Roxas' face. "Look. It even matches your eyes."

"Stop," Roxas whispered. _Matches Sora's eyes, too._

"You want it, don't you?" Riku smiled, leaning in until he was close enough to kiss. "Don't you?"

_YES. FUCK, YES._ "You're going to get back together with him."

Riku shrugged. "Maybe." He reached into the nightstand next to his bed and pulled out a bottle of lube. "Sora loves this stuff," Riku said, spreading a layer between his fingers. "Why don't we try this out?" Riku asked, hands gliding up and down the toy, eyes on Roxas. Roxas was sure that his heart would fail, that the beating he could feel against his throat would just stop. _Oh my god. Oh my god._

"Come on, Roxas. We were broken up last time, too." Riku licked his lips and leaned closer, exhaling words against Roxas' ear. "Didn't stop you then." The tip of the other boy's tongue traced a slow path over the arc of his ear. Fire erupted all over Roxas' body, streaming in waves from the center of him outward. He couldn't help it. He moaned softly. "That's it," Riku said, pushing Roxas back slightly until the blonde was lying on the bed. "You want it." A kiss to his jaw framed by warm breath. "I want it." A kiss to the spot below his ear, fingers sliding up past his hoodie. "God, you still smell so good." A kiss at the corner of his mouth.

Roxas wouldn't realize it then, mind scattered and uncomprehending, but the kiss at the corner of his mouth that reminded him of Sora was not the only thing that made him sit up. Something about smelling good—a memory already associated with Riku—had tugged at something else in Roxas, something he couldn't remember. The jolt of memory was enough to restart his brain.

"No," he said, sitting up.

Riku stared at him for a moment, eyes and breath heavy, before shrugging. "Whatever." He stood and walked toward the balcony. "Bang some H with me."

Roxas was shoving the sex toy, slick with lube, into the front pocket of his hoodie when he heard the request. "What?"

"I stopped you before; I won't this time, I promise. 1cc, five milligrams. You can take it easy." Riku held up a syringe.

"I'm not going to slam boy with you on Christmas fucking Day, Riku."

"Since when are you Mr. Perfect Fucking Angel?" Riku spat, fiddling with a pale yellow balloon. The first time Roxas saw the heroin Riku shot, he was sure there some mistake. It looked like actual shit, sticky and dark like a chunk of dirty tar. Riku pinched at the small lump of heroin in his hand, depositing an amount in the jagged bottom of a Diet Coke can. Roxas watched wordlessly as Riku prepared his shot, felt his heart pound as the other boy pushed the tip of the syringe at a forty-five degree angle against the perfectly formed bright vein in his right arm. Riku's veins had always stood out, delicate tracery against his pale skin, and he'd explained to Roxas how the kids at his residential had been jealous of him for his perfect veins. He never tied off.

Riku withdrew the needle and looked over to Roxas, tilting his finger briefly. Roxas was on his feet instantly, hurrying to Riku's side. Was something wrong? Did he take too much? _Oh, fuck._

"Riku?" he asked, keeling beside the other boy. Riku's eyes were closed, head angled toward the ceiling.

"Let me tell you something," Riku said quietly, an unguarded smile settling over his mouth. Roxas' heart pinged and, wondering if he smiled like that at Sora, he leaned close. In an instant Riku's mouth was against his, tongue pleading for entrance against his lips.

There was a moment he could've a resisted, a moment he could've stood up and walked out. _But I don't want to._ His lips parted and he tasted Riku, sighing into the kiss. How long had he wanted this again? Years now. More than two. He'd dreamt of the way Riku tasted—bottled water and muted vanilla—dreamt of the way Riku _felt_ against him, in him. His breathing came harder, faster, and every touch Riku pressed against him was one that he arched into. _Yes._ _Finally, yes._ He was on the floor, Riku above him, hand pressed between his legs. It was a lost feeling, pleasant, but helplessly lost, like searching with the tips of your fingers for something in the dark, something you know is there if you could just _find_ it.

When Riku's hand slipped into his jeans, Roxas whined at the back of his throat; desperate, hungry. _Yes._ He could stop, he acknowledged. If Riku didn't look like this—consumed completely with lust and want and need—then Roxas would stop. If Riku looked like he was having fun, he would stop. He didn't want this to be a game, a little battle with words and dropped hints. He _loved_ Riku.

"You don't taste like him at all," Riku moaned into his ear, erection pressed roughly into Roxas' hip, callused fingers pumping against him to an unsung rhythm.

"Don't," Roxas whispered, rocking his hips up and into Riku's hand. "Don't talk about him."

"Why?" Riku asked, tongue touching the pulse in his neck. "God, you're so alike and so fucking different. It is such a fucking turn on." Riku directed Roxas' hands to the front of his pants. Roxas closed his eyes and felt the heat on his palms, felt it twitch as he smoothed out scorching ridges. _Fuck_. He wanted it in his mouth.

"Because," Roxas gasped, Riku's hand sliding rough against him.

"You want him," Riku exhaled into his mouth. "You want him like this." Roxas writhed beneath Riku, hips rocking erratically.

"Fuck you," he hissed, back arching.

"It's okay," Riku cooed in his ear, licking at the lobe. "He wants you, too."

Roxas came, hard, in Riku's hand and saw flashes of light, the glow of wings like angels turned electric, fluorescent. He panted, mind reeling, as Riku grabbed Roxas' hand and pumped it against himself. After Riku came, kissing Roxas hard on the mouth and shooting all over Roxas' pants, the blonde scrambled to his feet. He wasn't thinking, not really, as his legs carried him out of Riku's room and down the stairs. He couldn't hear anything at all as he went out through the elegant front doors and climbed in his car. It wasn't until Axel's song came on over his car speakers, the one Axel had called his favorite, that Roxas realized he was home, parked in his driveway, shaking, smoking a cigarette with all his windows rolled up.

There was a blissful moment of nothing before he realized where he'd been, what he'd done. _Fuck._ But they were broken up. _Oh, fuck_. It didn't count. _Yes, it does. Kill yourself, you sick fucking asshole._ He had wanted it, though. _You wanted more, you bastard._ He had liked it. _Liked it? You loved it. You loved it and you'd do it again._ Roxas tried to scream, but found that the effort required would not come to him. He felt the scream in his chest, ready to rip out of him, but he could not call it to the front of his mouth. _How do you hold him—your best friend in the entire world—how do you let him cry in your arms and then go and let his boyfriend get you off? How? You're not even human. People with real emotions don't do this. You're so sick, Roxas._ Roxas quietly hyperventilated, gasping repeatedly as he pressed the back button on his stereo and Axel's song came on again and again. _He won't forgive you for this. You're not even sorry. You wouldn't ask to be forgiven, you sick fuck._

He didn't know how long he sat there, smoking cigarette after cigarette, only deciding to leave after his car battery died and Axel's song cut off mid-chorus. He went to his room and collapsed on the bed.

--

Later that night, sitting naked in bed and staring at a bottle of lube and Riku's gift, he heard his phone ring. He knew before he looked that it would be Sora. New text message:

_Back together. Love you._

Roxas cried as he fucked himself.


	6. Chapter 6: Morality

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine.

**A/N**: I realize I misdiagnosed Sora in the earlier chapters, hah. It's been a while since my undergrad Psych classes, and I didn't want to give the poor kid full-blown Schizophrenia, so I decided Delusional Disorder was a happy medium. WRONG. Sora's DSM-IV criteria would make him Schizophrenic ("undifferentiated," probably, since his delusions aren't exactly catalogued under the "paranoid" umbrella). My bad. I promise to fix it all later. I also promise to respond to all your reviews from last week (especially you, Zheyne—the prodigal reviewer returns!).

No Faulkner fans, huh? How about a really big hint: _The Sound and the Fury_. It's there. I swear. ALSO: This chapter is short. My bad, again.

--

**Chapter Six: Morality**

You can't pick and chose who you fall in love with. It just happens. One minute you're talking with a friend about the shitty weather, or you're talking about how terrible that new movie is, or how much you hate your parents. You're talking about anything, and the next minute you're in love. Maybe it zeroes in like something atomic; one catastrophic blast and you're gone. Or maybe it starts off slow, a kick in the ribs every time he looks in your eyes just half a second too long. Maybe the way he laughs with you after you say something completely ridiculous because you're high and all three of you are squashed in his backseat. Maybe how, when you asked for a hug after he finished making out with your best friend in your driveway, he called you the "sexiest boy in the world," and you thought he had to be joking because Sora was there, and how could he say that if Sora was there. And then you're in love. It tears you apart, but you're in love.

Roxas spent the next few days after Christmas kissing his mom on the cheek before she left for work, staring at Sora's texts on his phone before deleting them unanswered, and spending the rest of the day lying on the ground in the middle of his backyard baked out of his mind. He never thought much of pot, but smoking it alone felt better, smoother, than smoking it with anyone else. Especially Sora. Sora, who would pry the truth from his throat just by being there. Sora, who was probably having sex right now for the four-hundredth time. Make-up sex. The good kind.

_Stop_, Roxas thought, pushing his bed sheets off of him. Every morning he woke up with Sora sitting in his mind. Sora and Riku sitting in his mind. On his chest. Or lower, just a bit lower.

"_It's okay." Warmth in his ear, tongue touching slow. "He wants you, too."_

Roxas took a shaky breath, hands fisted in his sheets. _This is not happening to me_. Hands balled tight, he could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. His mother was calling him from the kitchen. In what appeared to have been a whirlwind romance, Roxas' mother had spent the past few days with this charming, rugged, and shaving commercial-y guy who, from what Roxas understood, was the son of the guy who created that little magnetic strip on the back of credit cards (read: filthy fucking rich). They'd stumbled in yesterday afternoon all giggly and apologetic. Roxas, who had been higher than a kite, could only nod and smile. Now, though, making his way downstairs to the kitchen, Roxas began to feel nervous. He didn't know if it was the right response, this shame-faced bashfulness, as if he were intruding upon someone else's happiness.

As he tripped down the last few stairs, Roxas decided "Bob" is what he'd call the guy. His mother had seen enough men in his life for Roxas to come to terms with the fact that A) none of them could be his dad (mostly because his mom flew from commitment like a little bird from a particularly intimidating cat, but also because his dad was still his dad, sautéing in all his apathetic deadbeat glory somewhere 750 miles away) and B) there is just no way in hell he'd ever remember all their names. Some were "Mitch," others were "Chuck," one in particular was "Manfred." There had been a couple Bobs, and as Roxas pulled open the fridge to A) take out the milk and B) hide his face from Bob, he figured this Bob might not be too bad. He was, after all, not eating Roxas' clearly labeled cereal. Whenever Roxas was set to be home, his mother would buy him a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and label it in a strip of yellowish masking tape: _"Hi, Roxas_." Clearly, this meant the cereal was for Roxas and Roxas alone. It never stopped Bob, Mitch, Mitch, Chuck, or Bob. It certainly never stopped Manfred. This Bob, however, seemed pretty satisfied with his Cheerios. _Ew_, Roxas thought.

Roxas sat across from Bob, delicately placing his bowl full of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and the carton of milk on the kitchen island. Bob was smiling into his bowl of cereal, and Roxas knew he should probably say something. It was awkward enough already, and he was making it worse by being brain dead.

"Hi." _Bob_. Roxas offered his best toothy grin (not too bad, considering he smoked the last of his pot yesterday and he'd probably claw his face off before the day was done).

Bob raised his eyes from his bowl of cereal, and Roxas thought that there was no way this was the son of the nerdy fucker who created credit card strips. "Thought you were going to ignore me," Bob admitted. "You know, the whole 'moody teenager' deal."

Roxas wrinkled his nose as he chewed on a heaping spoonful of cinnamon-y goodness. "Nah. I got past that part." _Bob_.

Bob nodded energetically and introduced himself. Roxas forgot his name two seconds later, but figured the guy was nice enough that he could call him Not-Bob. Not-Bob actually stood up when his mother, robed and grinning like a cheesy _Lifetime_ movie mom, entered the kitchen. Roxas noticed the way Not-Bob's shoulders rolled back when he stood, opening up his (_What the fuck are you, doing, idiot?_) well-defined chest that tapered into a nice waist. Roxas tried to not think about Not-Bob "in that way," but Axel and Axel's type kept charging all triumphantly across his vision. Not-Bob was most definitely Axel's type. When the phone rang, Roxas' "Hello" was particularly glum.

"_So there's this thing I heard about. It's called like a 'phone charger' or something. People use it so their best friends can call them._"

"Oh, uh. Sorry. Hi."

"…_Are you stoned_?"

"What!?" Roxas choked, covering the phone with his hand and darting his eyes over to where his mother and Not-Bob were breakfasting. _Good_. They hadn't heard anything. "I'm eating breakfast. With my _mom_."

"_Ohhh. Sorry._" There was the rustle of plastic and the distinct sound of someone pouring cereal. Roxas heard the clatter of a spoon. "_Cinnamon Toast Crunch?"_

"Yeah."

"_Cinn-emo-n Toast Crunch?"_

"Yeah, Sora. Yes."

"_Cinn-emo, EMO, emo-n—"_

"Fuck you right now," Roxas laughed, flinching a moment later as his mom whacked him with a roll of paper towels. "Are you just calling to make fun of me? Because I'm pretty sure this is the part where you go all scary and demand why I've been 'ignoring' you."

Sora's chewing sounded thoughtful over the phone. Roxas could see him tapping the phone against his ear, could hear the soft _thwoop thwoop_ it made. "_I'm not mad_."

_Oh, shit. He knows_. "That's… uh, good?"

"_Riku can't come tonight. His dad came back yesterday and got them tickets to Paris or something._" Munch. Munch.

"Can't come?" _Oh, fuck._ "I mean… what?"

Sora laughed brightly, and Roxas was sure he'd never felt more horrible. "_It's New Year's Eve, genius. He can't come to the Capri_."

"Oh." The Capri, a seedy pay-by-the-hour motel, stood on the outskirts of their town. It was common for kids from the town or truckers or discreet businessmen to patronize the Capri for an hour or two of debauchery. For Riku, Sora, and Roxas, the Capri was where they spent their New Year's Eve. Riku, Sora, Roxas, a couple condoms, a bottle of champagne, a bong, little hats with streamers coming out of the top. It had been Riku's idea. Senior year, Riku and Sora going out for only a few weeks, Riku had been excited.

"That's why we can't do it my house." They had been talking about the festivities, about the sack Sora bought and how there was nowhere to smoke it.

"I still don't see why we can't do it in my backyard," Roxas said, kind of annoyed without knowing why. This was before he knew.

"_Because_, dumbass." And that had been the extent of the explanation from Riku: "because." Roxas learned later "because" meant "because I want to fool around with Sora." But this was before he knew. Before he knew he was falling in love.

Sora sighed over the phone. "_Are you listening, Rox?_" Then, quietly, "_Are you sure you aren't high?_"

"Sorry. Yeah. I mean, no, I'm not." Roxas shook his head. _This is a good thing. He won't be there_. "I'll pick you up at six?"

"_Cool_," Sora said. "_You're going to be fucking stoked, Rox. You won't believe what Riku got me for Christmas_."

This, as Roxas learned eight hours later, turned out to be a gram of cocaine and a really nice bottle of champagne. Sora flashed the stash after he got in the car, beaming as he buckled his seatbelt.

"We did a couple lines, but there's a lot left." Judging from the way Sora's fingers twitched against his leg, Roxas figured Sora had just done a line. "You're gunna love it, Roxie. You're gunna love it."

Sora spent the twenty minute drive compulsively switching the CDs in the stereo after a song (or half a song). Roxas quietly dissolved. _He knows. He totally fucking knows._ _And if he doesn't, I'm going to rail a fucking line with him and then it will just fall out of my mouth._ Sora's fingers slid up to his thigh, stroking. _Oh, fuck_.

--

Roxas drove five miles under the limit as they approached, and Sora glared at each parked cop car they passed within a three-mile radius of the Capri. The cops were not oblivious; they knew something went down every weekend at the shitty motel, and the second a window was broken or someone stepped outside with an "open container," they would pounce. Roxas parked and the two of them began to make their way to the front office past the various smoking circles. Typically the kids were friendly, maybe looking to score, standing around smoking until a dealer showed up or someone came back from a beer run. When someone flicked a cigarette at Roxas' elbow, he thought it was an accident. When the kid called him a "faggot," it was kind of hard to ignore. It would not have been a problem if Sora hadn't heard. Roxas, who didn't like confrontation, would've flipped the skinny jeans motherfucker off and shrugged. But Sora, who Roxas figured was like some holy warrior knight in his other reality, would fight anyone stupid enough to fuck with him. Skinny Jeans Motherfucker was on the floor in an instant, Sora's knee shoved into the kid's solar plexus, his fist right up against the kid's chin.

"Is there a fucking problem, asshole?" Sora shouted, his voice bright and full of challenge. Skinny Jeans Motherfucker's friends had their hands up in the universal "Whoa, chill out, we don't want any trouble" pose, and Roxas found his hands twitching to a pack of cigarettes he didn't have. The last time Sora fought someone, they'd had to run half a mile from the cops, take a shortcut across a golf course with a particularly nasty sprinkler system, and throw themselves into someone's car that was stopped at a light. The driver, some guy in his late twenties with a lawnmower in his backseat that Roxas cut his hand on, had been remarkably calm about the situation.

"I asked if there was a fucking problem," Sora snapped, shoving Skinny Jeans Motherfucker's chin up with his fist. The kid, who either had balls of steel or a death wish, shrugged against the asphalt.

"Why don't you get the fuck off me and entertain your little boyfriend over there." If Roxas hadn't been too busy figuring out the best way to get Sora off this kid, he'd probably have been a little impressed. Skinny Jeans Motherfucker's face was a mess of blood, but he was putting up a nice fight. He managed to mess up Sora's hair.

Roxas touched Sora's shoulder as softly as he dared, and the fight immediately went out of the other boy. He dropped his fists and stood up, though Roxas noticed Sora placed a significant amount of weight on his knee pressed into the kid's body. They hurried to the front desk since the cops would probably be arriving in the parking lot in a handful of seconds. Sora was muttering under his breath as they walked to their room.

"…All the Heartless. But I showed them." Sora's right hand would spasm intermittently, like he was reaching out for something. Roxas didn't know if the coke was a good idea.

"Hey, Sora," he said, turning to the other boy as he unlocked the door with a swipe of the card and they stepped in the room. "How many were there?"

Sora's eyes were hard, his brow furrowed. "Too many. I fought them off, though. You're safe." His hand closed over Roxas' upper arm, squeezing lightly. Roxas swallowed the fear in his throat and tapped at Sora's crown necklace.

"My prince. You're a good protector."

For a moment he wasn't sure it would work, but Sora's grip on his arm relaxed, his eyes going clear. "Fuck." Roxas saw Sora's throat work, the muscles there pulsing. "Let's do a line."

Sora shrugged his backpack off and tossed it at the bed. Roxas watched him start cutting up lines for a moment before he turned to the crappy television and set it to MTV. This part he could deal with: turn on MTV, talk the hours away, get fucked up, watch the countdown as it happened in Times Square, jump up and down. _It's nothing_. He felt Sora slide up behind him, sniffling. There was a single white line on the hand-held mirror.

He remembered feeling nervous the first time, annoyed that they had to drive to the outskirts of town where "fucking hoodlums, Riku, that are going to kill us" stood around the parking lot and eyed the three of them with suspiciously blank faces. Riku, who was nineteen at the time, had no problem persuading a member of his "help" to pick up a bottle of champagne that Roxas couldn't read because it was in French. The heroin Riku bought on his own.

It was the first time Sora or Roxas saw him shoot up, though they'd heard the stories; mouths drawn into tight little lines, eyes wide as Riku outlined something dark and dangerous while they ate lunch in the Institute's courtyard. Roxas was tied off, Sora's hand on the back of his neck, the needle positioned above him. When he met Riku's eyes, there was a jolt of electric recognition in his guts. He hadn't known before, but that is probably when it started. Riku had rubbed the spot where Roxas' vein glowed like a tiny bruise and said he couldn't be responsible for corrupting the youth. Roxas had been annoyed at the time, had sucked down three flutes of champagne while Sora rolled his eyes at him and inched his way into Riku's lap.

And then, later, as he watched the ball drop on MTV, when he heard Riku's whispers and hisses, Roxas felt shame blow up huge all over his face.

"_I'm gunna come." The faint rustle of sheets, and Roxas could see their reflection on the border of the screen, Sora on his side, hand lost. Riku on his back, just breath._

It is usually a question for Truth or Dare. There is always the "Are you a virgin?" and "I dare you to take all your clothes off," but sometimes there is "Have you ever watched people have sex?" Sort of, Roxas would have said. Almost. So when Sora used a wad of the crinkly rough toilet paper to wipe Riku's come off his hand, when he threw the crumpled up ball on the floor and it landed audibly, cheap paper crunching against the stained carpet, Roxas had burst into laughter.

"I'm not deaf, guys," he'd said. He hoped they wouldn't make him turn around because his cheeks felt hotter than the sun.

"Is this okay?" Sora asked, and he sounded nervous, Roxas watching the reflection of his face in the screen, a million people in Times Square sucking face and holding sparklers. "I don't want to do anything that will make you feel uncomfortable."

"No, it's cool," Roxas said, Riku's eyes on his through the reflection through the screen. Riku winked.

Now, a line of coke crackling happily in his extremities, he wasn't sure he could watch his mouth. Sora sat behind him, legs on either side of the blonde, arms fluttering happily around his ribcage. Roxas was talking about something, he didn't know what anymore, when Sora exhaled against his back.

"Riku said you visited him on Christmas."

_Oh, fuck_. "Yeah? I did. Yeah. He was really high."

"I heard the song you made him." Sora's hands slid up and around his shoulders, pulling him back. Sora's cheek rubbed against his ear. "Wish you'd make _me_ a song."

"I… we're gunna miss the countdown."

"Stand up!" Sora shouted, jumping to his feet. The crowd on the shitty television chanted numbers, the in-studio MTV audience already screaming. Eyes trained on the screen, Sora's hand gripped in his, Roxas felt like the end of the world. On "one," the two of them jumped as high as they could. Roxas remembered it was Sora who said it, said that jumping after the ball dropped would make you taller. Since they were short, they had to jump high. Roxas didn't feel any sense of immaturity as he did it, just a real desire to be taller, to be bigger. Stronger. Smarter. Better.

Then Sora's mouth was on his.

They had been fifteen, fucked up on Ambien. Sora said they were underwater, and Roxas said that the submarine had too many windows. The pressure was too much, they were sinking too fast, so they decided to kiss to help them surface faster. On Sora's bed, Roxas' face staring out the window at other submarines, Sora's tongue in his ear. It hadn't felt wrong then, and it didn't feel wrong now, Sora's hands soft at his hips. Roxas' mind was wonderfully blank, Sora's mouth patient against his. It wasn't wrong, was it? This is what you did at midnight; you kissed someone you loved.

When Roxas felt his head against a pillow, Sora half-pressing him into the bed, he wondered if they should do another line. At least then there'd be an excuse. Before he could suggest this, Sora moved off him, lying on his side, head propped up and close, sharing Roxas' air. Roxas felt like there should be some thoughts in his head, at least one, but there was only a pleasant hum, like someone singing upstairs and behind a door. Sora's fingers danced on his neck, and the touch was different this time.

"I can't believe you've had sex," Sora whispered. He would not meet Roxas' eyes.

"Hmm?" Because Roxas hadn't been able to lie when Sora asked, after he came home the summer after freshman year of college, whether he'd lost his virginity. He hadn't been able to lie, but he never said who he lost it to.

"Was she pretty?" Hands running up to his mouth, tracing it. "Did you love her?"

Roxas knew the answer, was about to say it, when all of a sudden he was sure he knew nothing at all. _Don't I? Didn't I?_ The way Sora was looking at him, fingers touching his face like he was something rare, felt too big for the room, for the world. "Think so," Roxas whispered, fingers sliding under the hem of Sora's shirt, sliding up against skin and curving around to the indentation of the other boy's spine, climbing and climbing. Sora purred against him.

"It should have been love." Sora's mouth on his again; patient, paradoxically soft. "It should have been me."

Roxas didn't know how to feel, didn't know how to think. He would not have remembered his name, would have remembered nothing except ways to describe the way Sora's hand felt tangled in his hair. Sora, his best friend.

"But it's too late now," Sora said, leaning back again. "Since I'm… y'know. With Riku."

"Yeah…" _Riku._ There was something wrong. In his head, past the glow of cocaine and the burst of champagne, there was something wrong. _Sora_. Sora nestled closer to him, lips against his ear. Roxas could see their reflection in the upper left-hand corner of the shitty television screen. Him on his back, Sora on his side. It reminded him of…

"I want to give you an orgasm." Because Sora didn't confuse his sex with his love.

"_What_?" Because Roxas has only ever thought the two were the same.

"I can make you feel so good, Roxas." And the way he said it—Sora, his best friend—in his ear all warm and eager, made Roxas feel like he was in a river going fast downstream, out to sea. "It's different from having sex. It'll feel so good." Fingers plucking at the band of his jeans. Maybe it would be okay if lies and deceit weren't tangled up in everything. Roxas said nothing for the space of a few seconds; apparently long enough for Sora to reconsider. "I'm really high."

Roxas stared a little longer at their reflection in the television, saw the streets of New York City empty and all the trash left behind. His hand stroked a final touch down Sora's spine. "Yeah. Me, too."

--

It is much easier not to think anything at all. Because we are machines, because our minds are like computers, it is so easy to do the things we have always done. We breathe, we blink. We eat, we sleep. Something terrible could happen—maybe a war across the world where people you don't know are dying, maybe a friend's baby drowned in the pool, maybe that church burned down and the people couldn't get out—and you can still function pretty well. Almost perfect, your functioning, even though you might cry a little bit, curse a little bit. Something amazing could happen, and it would be much of the same. Because it is strange, isn't it? How the terrible and the amazing are just two different sides of a line drawn in the sand?

Roxas was sure it was too cold to have forgotten his favorite hoodie at Sora's, the chill settling across his bones as he walked toward the dorms in the fading light. The hoodie at Sora's, crumpled on the floor for two days where he wouldn't leave Sora's bed and they kissed. For hours they kissed until their stomachs growled and Sora brought crackers and they pissed in bottles. They would have taken Xanax, would have downed Ativan if they had any, but they only had half a gram of coke, and the lines Sora cut on a CD case only made the kissing numb and made the kissing hungry. And when Sora cried, horrible wracking sobs that echoed inside Roxas' body, Roxas felt sorry for his entire life, for his entire everything. So, after the same long goodbye, it was easier not to think anything at all than think Sora knew about everything.

Roxas bypassed the dorms and headed to his favorite outcropping to watch the rest of the sunset. It had been the kids at Little Vista who made it a habit. Sure there were kids watching the oranges and the pinks everyday, but the kids at Little Vista made it a point, made it a promise.

"The way I see it," Pence had said, pressing a joint to his mouth, "we pay for this shit, too. Fifty dollar sunsets, every single one of them."

There was someone already enjoying the fifty dollar sunset when Roxas walked up. He thought maybe he should've been a little excited—Axel leaning down against his arms on the chain-link fence, his back curved and looking perfect for the sliding of fingers—but instead he felt nothing. The thing in his chest was too heavy, and it kept the corners of his lips weighted, kept his hands anchored to his sides. It wasn't until Roxas walked up right beside Axel that the redhead coughed suddenly and swiped at his eyes.

"Hey." Swipe, cough, cough, swipe. That was enough to shake some thought into Roxas' head, because Axel crying didn't made sense in the same way Axel taking impossibly good notes didn't make any sense. The other boy's eyes were so green against the setting sun, the dampness right above his cheeks glistening as he tried to swipe it all out of existence.

"Hey." Roxas thought that if he remembered how to think right, if he remember how to un-taste Sora in his mouth, he would focus his eyes on the way the sun was sinking past the horizon instead of on Axel's face and the way it fought against something towering, something unconscionably strong.

Axel turned away and bowed his head, eyes scrunched up. "Fuck." All of it made Roxas think of rain and perfect warmth, but he didn't know why. "Sorry."

"S'okay," Roxas said, and he wondered if it was too cold, wondered if he shrugged his shoulders.

"Rough break?" Axel, eyes down, brushing furiously at his cheeks.

"Yeah." _Fuck my entire fucking life. Fuck my entire. Fucking. Life._

"Want to smoke some—"

"Yes."

All the coping skills Roxas had ever learned all screamed at him in his head as he picked his way across the darkening beach with Axel. They screamed and said this is not the answer. They screamed and said you cannot run from your problems. Roxas knew all these things, and, like the imperative of so many other voices clamoring for the podium in his head, he just didn't care. Life would be handed to you whether you liked it or not. On a silver platter, life and how everything doesn't make any sense because no one promised it ever had to make any sense. Riku, on a silver platter. Sora, on a silver platter. Meth, on a silver platter. A flicker of light. A cloud of smoke. The thoughts came back to Roxas and he was talking at the speed of light.

"I fucking hate my entire life right now, man. I thought I hated my entire life before, but that was just the fucking foreplay."

"You and me both, kid." Axel not meeting his eyes again, staring out at vast things that are so deep we can't possibly know everything that sits within them.

"I am such a fuck up." _You fuck up. You fuck up. Fuck your whole life up. Fuck up everyone you know._ Roxas hurled a handful of sand down the beach. And another. And another. "I fucking… I fucking hate myself."

Axel was quiet, fingers drawing something in the sand. An eyebrow, a mouth. "It's not your fault." A chin, a nose. "You can't help who you fall in love with."

Roxas bit his lip, threw another handful of sand, this time half-heartedly. "That obvious, is it?" _Fuck._ Except the meaning of everything had shifted. _You can't help who you fall in love with. You can't help. Who. You can't. You can't. Fall in love with. Who. Who?_

"Pretty obvious," Axel said. "Thought it was a girl at first. Not too bad, right? Happens a lot. Kid falls in love with his best friend's girl." Axel glanced at Roxas out of the corner of his eye, adding spiky hair to his drawing in the sand. "When you talked about Sora's 'boyfriend,' and how you never said this guy's name, avoided it like it was curse, that's how I knew." Axel pulled out the pipe and took another hit before he passed it to Roxas. Roxas could twist the stem on his own now. "How long?"

Roxas exhaled a cloud. "Couple years. Almost three." _You fuck up_. "I lost everything to him. He and Sora were broken up." _You fuck up. You fucking animal_. "He texted me to come out, and Sora was asleep, and I thought I could help them get back together." Roxas exhaled another cloud and felt spiders crawling quick over his scalp. "I met him two blocks away and he drove us up to the country club. We would hang out there a lot, all three of us. Sitting, smoking. We were talking about Sora and how he wasn't right for him."

Axel flicked some sand at Roxas. "Ever gunna say his name?"

"Yeah." Because on some level, if he never said his name, then maybe it didn't have to be true. _Is it true?_ "Riku."

"Riku," Axel repeated, and Roxas found he liked the way Axel said it.

"So he said Sora wasn't right for him. He said Sora was right for me." Roxas felt a burn crawl up his cheeks. "Said we were deluding ourselves, and he was jealous, and what did Sora see in me, and all this… stuff." Axel's hand on his back, stroking. _Why are you crying?_ "He was really angry at me. But I guess I was angry at him, somewhere in my head I hated him for how he stole Sora away and made him fall in love." Axel's hand at his neck, thumb brushing against his pulse. "That's when I kissed him. And then we were all over each other in his car, and then we went out on the ground, and I just remember that it felt really good." He closed his eyes, leaned in to the touch. "It felt so good."

Axel's breath on his face. If he opened his eyes, he knew Axel would be right there. If he opened his eyes then they would lean closer. _Open them._ Exhale on his cheek, thumb brushing a pulse. _Open them_.

"My…" Axel began, and Roxas felt something wet fall on his cheek. Axel brushed it away and continued. "My mom divorced my dad when I was two. He had lots of money and she had nothing, so we wandered around a lot after that. She said he—" a swallow, loud, "She said he tried to touch me. I don't know if he did, and she wouldn't say how she knew."

Roxas felt very small against Axel. "Oh my… oh my god."

"I didn't see him for a really long time. We were poor as shit, staying with her boyfriends. She couldn't hold down a job. I remember hating her and wanting to see my dad." His hands stroked at the back of Roxas' neck. "When I was sixteen he got in contact again. My mom said I could see him if I wanted. So we hung out a couple times. I was already selling K, cutting it up with flavored shit and selling it to buy more shit. I was a bad kid already, I guess. He didn't know where to take me, so we went horse racing. Some fucking bullshit." One side of Roxas' face was wet, Axel's tears falling from above him. He stuck his tongue out and tasted them. "A couple months later he asked if I wanted to go skiing. I'd never been skiing, never even fucking seen any snow that you couldn't stick up your nose. So we went to Mammoth and got this cabin. We never skied once.

"Spent most of the weekend really fucking drunk on some wine. He said it was his friend's cabin. I dunno. We went out to eat all the time since there was no food in the place, and he always made me dress up. Made me take out my earrings and cover up my arms. Held my fucking hand." Roxas felt his breath come in short little spurts. He could hear Axel's heart pounding away, hammering like someone demanding to be let out, please let me out, please. "The night before we left I was really drunk. I don't know if he was drunk. He started kissing me. I—" pounding hard, someone desperate to escape, "I didn't know what to do. I was drunk, but I could've stopped him. I was sixteen. He was my fucking dad. What could I have done? So I let him kiss me. I kissed him back. Maybe. I don't know." Axel's voice was tight and low, strangled.

"He laid me back on the couch and started touching me. I could've stopped him. I hadn't seen him in so fucking long. It had been more than a fucking decade, and then there he was again. He put his finger in me. It felt," Axel whispered. "It felt _good_." His voice broke and Roxas found he was no longer being held, that he was holding a shaking mass in his arms; violent, disbelieving. "It felt so fucking good, Roxas. I came really hard. It was all over me, and he didn't touch it. He didn't touch me at all and I just stayed drunk the whole time and he took me home the next day." He shook in Roxas' arms. "I still talk to him on the phone every weekend."

Just one line in the sand, one line between the terrible and the amazing. Roxas had no words, had the negation of words, and could not tell Axel anything. Sometimes there are things that have no response except for muted horror, pupils dilated and salty shock lining your eyes. There are just no words for some things. Roxas held Axel, the redhead curled small against him, as the moon rose and floated across the sky in an arc that would have been beautiful if the world had been beautiful, if they had been happy and predisposed to seeing thins of beauty.

"I'm… sick," Axel said, sitting up and staring at the pipe in his hand.

"No," Roxas said. Axel liked men. Manly men, rugged and imposing. Axel liked men. "It's not your fault."

"Yeah," Axel said, putting the pipe away. He pulled Roxas into his lap, settled the smaller boy against his chest. "I'm going to love you," he said, certain.

"Don't," Roxas whispered. "I'll break you."

"Already broken," Axel said, stroking up his arms.

The way Roxas saw it, leaned back against Axel's chest, the whole world was fucked. He didn't know if it was the meth in his head or the boy at his back, but the whole world would be fucked forever. So it didn't matter if he loved Riku, or if he thought he loved Riku. It didn't matter if he loved Sora, if he was _in love_ with Sora. They were all fucked, anyway, and that was the first thing he was sure of. The second thing was how the oil rig glittering in the distance looked like a pirate ship. The third thing was how Axel was so warm. And these three things were the only things he could be sure of.

"We should head back. Class in a few hours."

"I don't want to."

"…You can come with me."

Roxas closed his eyes and felt how Axel's heart beat against his spine. "Your sheets are so white." He thought that maybe he felt Axel's heart spike. Maybe.

"They have to be." Axel's arms tightened at his waist. "We need to sleep or we'll hate each other when the sun comes up."

Roxas knew how to fight. He knew how to fight so hard that it would be impossible for anyone to tell him anything. He fought against Zexion, against Demyx, against Riku. Only Sora would make the fight go out of him. He could fight against Axel, too, couldn't he? He could. _I should_. Then Roxas realized the older boy was holding his breath, like he was hoping for something or like the were going through a tunnel and you have to cross your fingers and lift your feet and touch metal or something terrible will happen.

"Yeah. Okay."

--

Axel's sheets were unbearably soft against his skin, like something lucky you keep, colored and dried, on a keychain. Axel slept shirtless and in soft (like feathers, like down) fuzzy flannel pants. They were twins, a pair of Axel's pants riding low on Roxas' hips, and Axel was pressed up against the wall, turned toward the blonde on the edge of his bed. They should sleep, should close their eyes and listen to the way Demyx exhaled above them. They should sleep and Axel should stop brushing the skin on Roxas' cheeks. Roxas should stop feeling out Axel's ribs, counting them one by one, over and over again. But Roxas was thinking of Sora, of how words said too much and hugs said too much and you could give comfort in touches. He scooted close to Axel and pulled the other boy against him, felt Axel shrink small in his arms, felt a warm exhale of thanks against his bare chest, pricking fireworks along his spine. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't _care_ what he was doing. His heart felt flattened, screaming outside of him somewhere, exploded into a million ugly pieces and laughed at and put in a museum and made an example of.

_You think you know things_, his head told his heart. _You think you know things, and then all of a sudden you know nothing at all._ Axel pressed his lips to the place where Roxas' heart should be. _Suddenly you know nothing at all_.

--

"Haha, uh, what?" The voice came from Roxas' right, and he cracked his eyes open to see Demyx standing there, his boxer briefs very vivid with the colorful fish and dolphins on them, eyebrows thrown up in surprise. Roxas looked down and saw Axel's head rested on his stomach, arms wrapped around his sides like he was pillow. His hand was in Axel's hair, twisted into knots there. "Are you… I mean, I know he is, but I thought you were—"

"I'm bi," Roxas said, wondering if it was the truth. It was probably a lie. "But we're not… we're just sleeping."

"…Naked."

Roxas choked on some air. "We're not _naked_." He lifted the covers from them, revealing their matching pants.

"Twins," Demyx noticed. "Very non-gay."

"I will fuck you up so bad right now," Roxas said, covering his eyes with the hand that was not hopelessly caught in Axel's hair.

"Roxas, defending my virtue? I am pleased beyond words," Axel mumbled against his stomach. It tickled.

"Your roommate is being insinuate-y."

"Just calling it like I see it, Roxas" Demyx smiled.

"I know," Axel said, sitting up and rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Why don't you give us a striptease, Dem." He smiled winningly at Roxas, rubbing a pillow crease on the blonde's cheek. "Rox will pay."

Roxas tried to frown, tried to do something disagreeable. Instead he nuzzled Axel's hand (registered the surprise on the redhead's face) and felt warmth spill down his guts and swirl there, pleased. "Five bucks sound okay, Dem?" Demyx chuckled and flipped him off, slinging a towel over his shoulder and heading out the door for a shower. Roxas was suddenly very aware that he was alone in Axel's room, in Axel's bed, half naked.

"Hi," Axel said, pulling the blonde against him and burying his face in Roxas' hair, inhaling.

"Morning," Roxas said, still fascinated at the heat Axel's body gave off, a portable fever. _Is this awkward? It doesn't feel awkward_. He stubbornly blockaded his mind from ugly truths and reckless behavior. Axel's hand on his neck felt good. He would go with that for now. "We missed class."

"_Fuck_," Axel said, and Roxas wasn't sure that it was about the class. He wasn't sure about anything. Axel inhaled deeply. "_Fuuuck_." This time it was more like a groan.

Roxas' mouth quirked. "That bad, huh?" He hadn't showered in at least three days. He probably smelled like spit and crackers and Sora and… _Pop Rocks?_

Axel chuckled above him, the redhead's cheek rubbing against his hair. "You have no fucking idea."

"You have a refreshingly unique way of telling someone to take a shower," Roxas said, frowning. But… _Pop Rocks? What?_

Axel laughed again and angled Roxas' chin upward. The world was small again as Axel looked into his eyes. "I wasn't lying last night. I'm going to." _Going to love me? Flowers and chocolate and movies me? Hold my hand and sing to me? _Love_ me, love me?_

_Go with it. Just go with it_. "Would you like some crackers with that cheese?" His cheeks hurt from the way his mouth stretched over his grin, like his lips would split if they went any wider.

Axel's smile flashed fiercely as he moved off the bed with Roxas still in his arms, standing them up before stretching. "Just wait." He tugged the pants, dangerously low on Roxas' waist, higher up on the blonde's hips. "Just you fucking wait."


	7. Chapter 7: Lullabies

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine.

**A/N:** There is a lot of drama in this chapter. I mean a _lot_. It is like an episode of _The Hills_ or something, which I cannot be sure of since I don't watch it. But I will say this: I remember a time when anything hard or anything beautiful felt like the end of the world, all the time. In coolspeak we call this "high school drama." Please do not take me or anything here too seriously.

The power ballad in question is the Damn Yankee's "High Enough" which is, let's face it, an epic mountain of awesome that Roxas belts (NOT the higher harmony, which would be hilarious) in a completely un-ironic way… or at least mostly un-ironic.

--

**Chapter Seven: Lullabies**

There is the sickeningly manufactured smell pressed between the covers of new textbooks that, after tearing off the plastic cover, wafts out to remind you that, yes, a new quarter has started. As the quarter progresses, this oddly clinical smell dissipates over time, replaced by the chemical scent of highlighters, the dirty stench of mechanical pencils, and the leftovers of perfectly formed fingerprints spit and pasted on with nacho cheese flavored Corn Nuts. Regardless of the particular stench, the important part is that the new textbook smell should be gone, long gone with hours of torturous Hesiod and early Spenser. Roxas should not have come to discover, the week before finals, that his Renaissance Pastoral textbook smelled horrifically exactly like a textbook. Luckily, Roxas spent Dead Week in residence at the side of Axel's bed, Axel with his "notes of in-fucking-fallibility." Roxas could not help that he was not an amazing student, and every cup of coffee that Axel brought him from the dining commons he accepted with only moderate hostility.

"This is not fucking fair," Roxas had said after the third night of reading through Axel's notes like a monk before a holy text. He'd accepted his fifth—_sixth?_—cup of coffee from the redhead, creamy and sweet like conveniently melted ice cream, and frowned as Axel returned to his computer to finish the rest of some pirated documentary on the Catacombs of Paris.

"I know, right?" Axel had said, fiddling with his headphones. "Brains _and_ body. I am quite the catch."

On a good day Roxas would have fumed silently, maybe scribbled over a few of Axel's meticulous notes, but on that particular day he was inclined to agree with the redhead. Roxas attributed his newfound interest in Axel to the moonlit declarations of promised "love" Axel had yet to make good on. It had been a couple weeks, but Axel had not suddenly shown an interest in eating food outside of the dining commons or doing things with Roxas outside of studying, partying, and sitting in class together. The using drugs together thing, though, had stopped completely, and the redhead had taken to hiding Roxas' cigarettes with alarming ease and frequency. There was also the fact that Axel continued to disappear on weekends. Roxas tried hard not to think about it, as much as he tried hard not think about the fact that Riku had called him twice and Sora grew increasingly listless over their nightly phone conversations. These were all things Roxas could not think about, _would_ not think about. Not if he wanted to stay sane.

Well, maybe he thought about them a little. As he sat three seats away from Axel during the Renaissance Pastoral final, the little voice waved its fists in the back of his head. _Damn you_, it said. _Ask me the fuck out already_, it said. Roxas frowned and turned his attention back to the exam. With twenty minutes left, Roxas decided that stabbing his eyes out with his pen might prove more worthwhile than trying to think about "What significance does the _locus amoenus_ have with regard to Shakespeare's _As You Like It_ in conjunction with Virgil's _Eclogues_?" _Maybe if Axel didn't finish one fucking hour ago, it would be easier to concentrate_. Roxas flicked his eyes up quickly from his exam over toward the other boy. Sometimes Roxas swore Axel could read his mind. _Damn_. The redhead was slouched in his chair, exam turned over, twirling his pen between his fingers and staring right into Roxas' eyes. Axel winked at the blonde and nodded encouragingly. Roxas debated flinging his pen at Axel's face.

Twenty minutes and five seconds later, Roxas scribbled his way through the final sentence of his conclusion and slammed home a period before Shiny Bald Professor Man swiped his exam out from under his pen and glared disapprovingly. He shoved his pen into his backpack with shaking hands; he always suffered from the jitters after taking an exam, like he'd been sprinting for his life and had barely made it out alive. Axel's mouth quirked as Roxas stood beside his seat, hands vibrating visibly.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Roxas said, tightening his hands into fists. "I just… I hate tests or something."

Axel looked up at him for a long moment before launching himself out of his chair. "Let's go."

Roxas did his best to catch up with Axel's long strides. _Must be starving or something_. Roxas stopped in confusion as Axel took the path that led toward the student parking lot. _What? Are we going on a date now?_

"Uhh," Roxas said. Axel was already too far ahead to hear, so Roxas said louder, "UHHH."

Axel stopped and turned. "What?"

"The, uh, dining commons are that way?" Roxas said, pointing. _Taco pizza today. Gross._

"Your directional skills are very impressive, Roxas. You keep like a map up there or something?" Axel asked, tapping at his temple.

"Ha-ha, jackass," Roxas said. "I haven't had real food other than coffee and kiwis since like last week, so taco pizza sounds like a five-course meal right now." _A gross one. Take me out, please._

"You don't have finals tomorrow."

"No, but… food?"

"Your next final isn't until Thursday, and it's some Psych bullshit you don't really need to study for, right?"

Roxas walked toward Axel, nonplussed. "How does any of this make me less starving for food?"

Axel rolled his eyes and grabbed the blonde by the hand and began dragging him toward the student lot. "I will feed your annoying ass in exactly two hours, okay?" Roxas let himself be led, grumbling under his breath. Axel's grip on his fingers relaxed. "I have some emergency cans of Chef Boyardee in the car, if you need them." _Mmm, Beefaroni_, Roxas thought. Axel saw the change in the blonde's expression and smiled. "You like that, Rox? Big fan of canned goods?"

"I hate you," Roxas said.

Axel smirked as they walked. "Our friendship has progressed to the stage where you can say you hate me and I know you don't actually mean it. I am singing with joy on the inside."

"Fuck you."

Axel's smirk widened. "That one never gets old."

Roxas fumed silently until they reached Axel's truck, an old but surprisingly shiny dark green Toyota that Roxas had to jump to get in to. It was only after they stopped so Roxas could hammer a can of Beefaroni against the ground until it tore open enough for him to suck out the insides—"You have emergency cans of food without an emergency can opener?"—that Roxas wondered where they were going.

"Should I be worried?" he asked, sucking the last of the metallic tomato sauce off his fingers.

Axel turned down the stereo, one of Roxas' cigarettes in hand. "What?"

"Are we going to Vegas?" Roxas asked, reaching across Axel's lap to the side door compartment where his pack of Parliaments was stashed.

Roxas' hair brushed under Axel's chin as he leaned back into his seat, cigarette in hand, and Axel's breath caught oddly before he spoke. "You, uh, want to go?"

"I want to go wherever you're taking me," Roxas said, lighting the cigarette. "But I would kinda like to know where it is we're going."

"Home," Axel said, turning the stereo back up.

Roxas watched the scenery pass from beachside to city to miles of endless traffic. In a way he hoped was inconspicuous, he watched Axel drive. It was very disinterested while being completely focused at the same time. He drove with his right thumb at the bottom of the steering wheel, left elbow leaned on the arm rest, and his lips moved along to the impossibly long CD blaring over the speakers, a schizophrenic mix of rock from what Roxas thought was at least five different eras. As the opening riff of what Roxas had come to term "Axel's song" came on, Roxas turned up the volume and started singing along at the top of his lungs. Not to be outdone, Axel joined in. Complete with vocalized guitar solos and the proper amount of indignant "I'm eighteen and I like it!" rebelliousness, Axel and Roxas finished the song to applause from the passengers in neighboring cars on either side of them. They were, after all, stuck in gridlock traffic.

"Do you know this one?" Axel asked, flipping the tracks forward. Roxas sang along to the new song, and the one Axel picked after it, and so on, all the while Axel lowering the volume until it was mostly just Roxas singing over a whisper of music. They exited the freeway as Axel flipped to a cheesy early 90s power ballad that Roxas knew, at best, every other word of, but suited his range perfectly. They parked in front of a small yellow house, and Axel turned the car off while Roxas belted the final chorus, his voice ringing in a vibrato that Roxas didn't know he had. The blonde smiled sheepishly, meeting Axel's gaze.

"I have goosebumps right now," Axel said.

"Yay?" Roxas said, wincing at the praise as he felt an embarrassed blush rise to his cheeks. He always had an allergic reaction to people complimenting his singing. _I'm not even that good. I probably suck compared to… oh my god, that smile._

"What was that thing you did, where you sang higher than the main part?" Roxas didn't know if he'd ever seen Axel smile like that. In seven months, Roxas had come to learn, unconsciously, the way Axel smiled. He had the smile that didn't reach his eyes (the first one Roxas had ever seen, backlit by a small bonfire and moonlight), the smirky smile, the predatory smile, the faux cheery beaming smile, the manipulative winning smile, and the small smile he always tried to hide, but never _this_ particular smile, eyes sparkling and mouth turned up in a way that transformed the other boy's face completely. Roxas' heart pinged as he laughed.

"The harmony? How do you have a CD hundreds of songs long, and not know what a harmony is?"

"I like music, Mr. Choir Boy of the Gods. Doesn't mean I know shit about it." Axel stepped out of the truck, made a show of trying to catch Roxas as he hopped out, and gestured grandly toward the house. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"Nice mountains," Roxas said, looking the opposite direction. Axel shook his head and led Roxas in through the front door.

"I don't, uh, know what my mom has around. Probably nothing. My room is down the hall to the left," Axel said, heading in to the kitchen. Roxas felt vaguely nervous. _This is where he lives._ His eyes cast over the living room. _He probably sits there and watches T.V. And he probably eats there._ He didn't know what it was, maybe the sense of invading someone's personal space—_I've been in his dorm, though_—but there was something distinctly unnerving about being in Axel's house. It didn't make sense, in the same way that Axel crying or Axel taking notes didn't make sense. Being away at school is like living in a glass dome, a tiny microcosm of humanity that exists in the impossible realm of kids with no parents and no homes; a concentrated cell of unreality that is supposed to give birth to adequately functioning members of society. Sometimes it was hard to remember that people at school had real lives outside of studying, partying, and snippets of histories that you had no reason not to believe.

Roxas wandered down the narrow hall, taking in the paintings lining the walls and making the space feel smaller than it was. The bathroom, a girly shade of pink, was ahead, and a room overflowing with stuff was on the right. The door to the room on the left, Axel's, was closed. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ The doorknob felt icy under his fingers. On some level Roxas felt like he was about to see something disappointing. You build people up in your head, and then you see the reality of them, of what they are, and it comes crashing down. He didn't want that for Axel. Roxas was more content to let the Axel of jagged edges and harsh corners sulk around his mind, and he wouldn't have to know anything else. Anything else would be too much, probably. He heard Axel in the kitchen, singing that stupid power ballad in the wrong key, and Roxas realized he was breathing hard. _JUST OPEN THE DOOR. NOW. DO IT NOW._

Axel's walls, a deep blue, boasted not one single poster. His bed, immaculate white sheets smoothed flat and fitted, sat underneath double windows, sunlight filtering in through the open curtains. Roxas fought off the urge to immediately flounce face down on the bed and inhale, instead he peered closely at the white desk fitted to the wall. History books lined the edges of the desk, stacked one on top of the other: Pompeii and Vesuvius, notorious speakeasies, the Whitechapel murders—stacks of books all dedicated to very specific moments of history. Roxas made a move toward the closet, but his foot caught on the edge of the bed and he tumbled down on to it.

_He sleeps here._ Roxas trailed his hands over his stomach, fingers inching up under his shirt. _He's done more than sleep here_. His stomach growled and Roxas groaned, curling up on his side, dislodging a pillow from underneath the covers and bringing it close to his face. _Don't do it_. He held his breath. _Don't be a fucking girl about it. Just don't do it_. "Fuck," Roxas whispered, inhaling deeply. It was laundry detergent and the smell of time, mostly, but hidden just one layer away from the surface was the smell that clung to his hair all the time these days, to his clothes, his skin: mountain air and something lost in the trunk that you find years later; dusty, familiar.

"Tired?" Axel, in the doorway, sounding amused. Roxas sat up, embarrassed.

"Hungry," Roxas managed, choking down a half-articulated emotion.

"I unearthed a box of Pop Tarts. That okay?" Roxas nodded and rose from the bed… only to stumble right into Axel's arms. Axel chuckled, rubbing his back. "This is definitely right out of a movie."

Roxas, mildly horrified, burbled and pushed away. He was not trying to flail around pathetically, but his body seemed intent on making an idiot out of him. _Pull yourself together. We're at his house, not on a date._ Roxas gritted his teeth and threw himself into a kitchen chair, cramming a Pop Tart in his mouth. _WHO IS EVEN TALKING ABOUT DATING, DUMB FUCK. Not him. You are being stupid and paranoid and what about Riku? What about Sora? What the fuck is wrong with you_?

Axel watched the blonde devour three breakfast pastries in a row. When Roxas reached for his fourth, Axel started laughing. "I didn't know you were _that_ hungry."

Roxas frowned at the final Pop Tart and broke it in half, offering a piece to Axel. He felt like drowning himself in the cup of milk Axel poured out for him. _Idiot. Idiot idiot idiot._

"I want to show you something," Axel said suddenly, standing. Roxas choked on the milk. "Are you okay, man? You're acting fucking_ weird_ as _hell_."

"M'fine," Roxas mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. _We are friends. He said he's going to love me. Maybe he meant like friends. Fuck, what's the big deal._ Except Roxas couldn't quiet the voice in his head that said maybe, _maybe_ the reason Axel didn't like him is because he was pathetic. Or stupid. Or ugly. Not good enough, not cute enough. There was a reason. There had to be. _You're not his type, remember. You're no one's type._

--

What Roxas couldn't admit to himself is that the excited buzz, the "go with it" recklessness, did a fine job of masking the confusion about Riku and the potential catastrophe he was getting into with Sora. You cannot confuse your sex and your love, but Roxas was doing it anyway. He'd already _done_ it anyway, and if Axel wanted to be around, then Roxas was going to use him. We make these grand pretenses about valuing people's friendship and valuing their company, but Roxas believes these are all really polite ways of saying we use people. We use people for friendship, for conversation, for sex, for marriage. Someone to eat lunch with. Drugs. Everyone has a use, even if we don't admit the usage. There was the problem that in certain lighting Axel's eyes looked too much like Riku's, but Roxas would look away and focus on the bones in Axel's wrists, or the line his shoulders made against the sky. It wasn't even hard to forget his heart was pinned out on a dissection board, screaming into each new scalpel. Axel made it so easy to pretend. But Roxas could not admit these things.

They were sitting twenty feet above the ground on a flattened circle that Axel said was a water tower. Someone's backyard hung beneath them, a display of ostentation that, nestled high above the city in Roxas' earlier admired "nice mountains," was lost on deer and, probably, mountain lions that Roxas couldn't be sure were not watching them in the not too far off distance. They were smoking and it was cold, the March air having taken a dive toward the chilly after the sun slipped past the horizon.

_He has nice hands_, Roxas thought, blowing out a stream of smoke. Axel was pointing out places of significance in the city below, outlining where he gave a blowjob with an Altoid in his mouth, where he first swallowed a load without gagging, where he first gave it to a jock who begged on his knees for it, where he thought they should go for dinner, the first time he fucked a girl, the first time he ripped off a dealer, where he watched two kids get beaten to death on an elementary school playground. _He has nice hands, and he shouldn't be telling me any of this_. It was worrying that Axel had done this much living since he turned sixteen.

"My mom married this guy, and he kicked it within the year. We ended up with his house and his life insurance." Inhale, exhale. "Maybe she conned him. I dunno. Didn't really know the guy. But that was after… that whole thing in Mammoth, so…"

_So that's his reason_, Roxas thought. _Pretty good reason_. Axel continued talking, detailing the history of his life in this town, and the entire time Roxas could only think about perfect warmth and men he could never be.

"…and so we were frying balls fucking _hard_," Axel was saying, voice exhilarated, "and we all ditched sixth period English because it literally looked like the ground was made of black ass water, so I was running around the auditorium with condoms on my ears instead of writing essays on slavery or like, I dunno, comma usage." Axel laughed, and it was a happy nostalgic sound. "It sounds fucking crazy now, but those were the fucking _days_, man. I felt life every second. Every second I felt it burning up my veins like some really good shit."

_Nice hands_, Roxas thought again, getting angry. He was always going out, always getting fucked, so how were "those" the fucking days. Weren't "these" the fucking days, too? "You got anything on you?" Roxas blurted out right as Axel was about to speak. The redhead shot him a look.

"You're cutting back."

"Excuse me?"

"You're cutting back, Roxas," Axel said again, turning his gaze back out toward the city glittering below them.

"Because you're, what, my mom now?"

"No," Axel said evenly. "I started having this thing bug me. I guess it's called 'a guilty fucking conscience,' because it would keep me up at night and every time I saw your fucking face, it would scream at me. So you are cutting the fuck back, alright?" Axel said all of this, voice clipped, out toward the city.

"Take me back," Roxas said after a pause.

"_Roxas—_"

"Take me back or I will fucking _walk_, motherfucker," Roxas ground out, heaving himself to his feet. He glared down at the other boy, felt the insane urge to kick him off the tower. _It'd probably kill him. Probably hurt him really bad_. But why was Axel, _Axel_ of all people, trying to baby him? _A guilty conscience? GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK_.

"Roxas," Axel said again, quietly this time.

"You grew some morals where your fucking balls used to be? Or, what is it you said, you're 'having a crisis of morals?' _Fuck you_, man. I let you drag me to your shitty fucking town in your shitty fucking truck. And I was all excited and fucking…" Roxas made a noise of disgust, ran his fingers through his hair. "Fucking waiting for you to 'love me' or whatever. You said it four weeks ago; I've been counting." Roxas paced around the tower, eyes darting up into the mountains for anything unsightly with dripping fangs. He was beginning to hear how utterly insane he sounded. "You can't… you can't just say shit like that to me, man. You just can't." Axel mumbled under his breath, eyes down. "What, asshole?" Roxas shouted. He felt sick, like his stomach was staging a rebellion under his skin.

"I am," Axel said. "I'm trying. To… to _love_ you. Okay?"

Roxas laughed, hysteria running icy in his veins. "Fuck you, Axel. Fuck you."

Incensed, Axel scrambled to his feet. "Fuck _me_? I'm telling you I'm trying to love you, and you're telling me off? How about fuck _you_, Roxas?" Axel strode over to the blonde, furious, and Roxas was sure the other boy would hit him. "How am I doing it wrong? Helping you study? Keeping that shit out of your body? Being _nice_ to you? And I can assure you, Rox, I am _not_ a nice fucking guy." Axel took a step closer, voice tight with fury. "How about trying to stop you from _killing_ yourself with these fucking things." Axel reached into his pocket and hurled Roxas' pack of Parliaments to the floor. "Maybe love is easy for guys like you. Nice mom, nice friends. I don't _have_ any fucking friends. My mom is a fucking _bitch_. Love?" Axel laughed, a hollow painful crack that Roxas felt tweak in his guts. "I don't even know if I _can_ love. I thought I'd try it with you because…" Axel took another step closer to Roxas, their clothes touching, Axel's thumbs bumping against Roxas' arms. "Because you're worth it to me. To try it. I'm not a good guy, I'm never going to be a hero, but I thought maybe…" Axel exhaled, close enough for the gust of warmth to coat Roxas' cheeks. Axel's expression darkened and he turned away. "I don't know what I thought."

They stood on the water tower in silence, Axel turned out toward the city, Roxas behind him. The lines of the other boy's back were a study in grace, and Roxas thought he could lay notes out on it; a whole there, a quarter here. And a rest. Then a key change.

"I'm cold," Roxas said quietly. Axel moved past him in a single movement, headed back down to his truck. Roxas heard nothing in his head and bent close to the floor and retched a few times before picking himself up and climbing down the ladder on the side of the tower. The truck was waiting at the curb, Axel staring straight ahead as Roxas opened the door and hopped up… at least _attempted_ to hop up. His hip hit the seat and he went jolting sideways. He would've landed on his face had the other boy not grabbed his upper arm and hauled him into the seat.

They were halfway back to Axel's house before Roxas said, "Thanks."

"…Yeah."

They parked in Axel's empty driveway and sat in the car, engine off. Roxas wondered where Axel's mom was, if he would have to meet her. He wondered why Sora hadn't called him yet. He thought maybe Axel would just drive him back to school right now, and that maybe they'd never talk again. When Axel spoke, his voice sounded normal.

"You hungry?"

"Just… tired," Roxas said. _Tell him you want to go back. Just get it over with. This is fucked beyond repair._

"I can take you back to school," Axel said, hands moving up to the wheel in a jerk. Roxas felt panic explode in his chest.

"I'm just really tired, Axel," Roxas said, and the panic was in his voice, too, skewing it high.

"I'll… you can sleep in my room." Axel opened the door and climbed out. Roxas felt the panic in his chest recede quickly, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He hopped out of the truck and backed up into Axel as he shut the door.

"Sorry," Roxas said, head down. Axel arms wrapped around him a second later, pressing him with soft ferocity. He would've returned the hug, wanted to, but his arms were pinned at his sides. He compromised by nuzzling his cheek against Axel's jacket. He heard Axel sigh above him. What he didn't see was how the redhead's eyes slid closed, head angled up in relief and silent thanks.

--

The first thing Roxas was aware of, eyes slit against the sunshine that streamed into his eyes from under the curtains, was that his entire body felt like heaven. _Best mattress I have ever slept on, hands down_. He moaned pleasantly in his throat and arched backward, stretching. The second thing Roxas realized was that Axel had not secretly crept into the bed in the middle of night. Despite Roxas' quiet protestations, Axel had insisted on sleeping on the couch in the living room. The third thing Roxas realized was that the smell of awesome was in the air. _Nnngh, breakfast._ He stumbled in a half-naked stupor out of Axel's room and into the hallway. For a split second before entering the kitchen, Roxas wondered if his mom was the one cooking, and how she'd react to a boy who was certainly not her son, and whom she had never met, wearing a ridiculously long shirt that made him look all of twelve, stumble into her kitchen. Luckily, it was only Axel at the stove, deftly flipping a pancake by flinging up the frying pan. The dining table, standing against the back wall of the kitchen, was covered in a small army of plates. _Omelets, pancakes, funny looking hash browns, sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, sliced grapefruit, and, oh, fuck yes, waffles_.

"You cook!" Roxas declared, delighted.

"Vaguely," Axel said, waving a hand breezily. Roxas could tell he was embarrassed by the small smile. "I didn't know what you wanted, so I made some of everything." Roxas opened his mouth to respond, but Axel set the pan down on the stove with a clatter and hurried out of the kitchen. "No, no, fuck, don't say anything. Eat whatever you want, I'm going to go drown my embarrassment in the shower."

Roxas sat at the table and eyed the food, the grin on his face making him feel slightly giddy. The waffles would have to be eaten, yes, but he didn't want Axel to feel embarrassed. So he ate half of everything. When the redhead walked back in twenty minutes later, Roxas was finishing exactly half of the waffles and sighing with content. Axel burst into laughter.

"I can't believe you," Axel said, sliding into a chair.

Roxas smiled around the last bite of his waffles and felt like an idiot. "Din wan you to feel bad," he said, tonguing the food to his cheek, bottom lip glistening with a trickle of syrup. Roxas reached for the glass of milk and felt his cheeks begin to burn under Axel's stare. He didn't think Axel realized he was doing it. Roxas set the glass down carefully, still smiling like he didn't have a brain in his head, and looked expectantly at the redhead.

"You," Axel said, finally looking away and picking up a fork, "are amazing." In that moment, Roxas thought that maybe he'd burst into song. Axel smiled at his plate of eggs and said, "Washed your clothes and left you a towel by the shower."

Roxas grinned, and made a move toward the bathroom. As he walked by Axel's chair, he felt the urge to hug the other boy. _Do it. You want to do it, so do it, and don't half ass it, either_. Roxas took a deep breath and slipped his arms over Axel's shoulders, leaning over slightly and hugging the other boy to his chest. Axel's hair against his cheek, slightly damp, felt familiar.

"Thanks," Roxas said, feeling his eyelids lower. _Don't you fucking close them._ "I… I love breakfast." _Fight it._

Axel set his fork down very carefully and took one of Roxas' hands into his own, turning it softly. "I know," he said, and he pressed his lips to the inside of Roxas' wrist.

Roxas felt wobbly as he walked to the bathroom, legs unsteady under him. He went through the mechanical motions of cleaning himself and thought back to the whispered phone conversation he'd had with Sora, Axel's pillow lying on his face to muffle his voice.

"You're late," Roxas had whispered. He'd wanted to tell Sora everything, had to tell _someone_ about how things were happening with Axel. _He's my best friend. I want to tell him_.

"_Had to work late_," Sora said, and Roxas could hear him eating, the clink of silverware against a plate. "_I miss you."_

He had never wanted so much to tell Sora everything, to unload his soul and spill out all over the place. But he couldn't. "I love you, Sora."

Sora had gone very quiet. Roxas knew then that Sora had been having a hard time about something. "_I really… I really miss you, Rox. Come home soon. Please. I miss you."_ All whispers that crackled like static.

"Saturday," Roxas whispered back, misery on the inside corners of his eyes. Misery demanding, calling out for blood or justice.

Standing in the shower, toweling off, Roxas' mind was shooting out in a thousand different spirals, all of them maddening. He would need a cigarette or a bottle of Ativan or anything, _anything_ that would stop the chatter; a thousand different questions and no answers at all.

--

It was mid-afternoon when Roxas tripped over the stack of books on the other side of his dorm room door. Axel had a final the next day, and had to "look over some things," which Roxas was pretty sure was bullshit since Axel didn't study at all. _Maybe he needs to study the History stuff. Maybe it's harder_. Rationalizing. Roxas didn't want to think about other reasons why Axel wanted to be away from him. _I thought…_ Because the hug had been nice, hadn't it? He kissed him on the wrist, hadn't he? _That's twice. Once on my chest, once on my wrist._ He brushed against the spot where Axel's lips had pressed on his wrist, biting his lip. He wasn't aware he had an audience.

"Self-love. Touching, pun intended, but do you mind shutting the door? There is a breeze coming in and it is fluttering my thousand fucking pages of _Middlemarch_." Roxas closed the door, only to find Zexion tossing the book aside and staring down at him from the top bunk. "Where were you?"

"I was—"

"Gallivanting with the enemy?"

"He's not the—"

"Roxas. Listen to Zexion. I know your brain must be addled from his evil redhead ways, but trust me on this one. He is the enemy."

Roxas rolled his eyes. "We're friends, man. It's cool."

"No, _we_ are friends. You spend every second of your life with that guy. I'm not jealous or anything, or maybe I am, but only a very miniscule amount that is almost non-existent, but the _point_ is that this thing you have with him is not called 'friendship.'" Zexion used air quotes for emphasis. "Maybe 'a crush,' as infantile as it sounds, or possibly 'obsession.' Maybe 'pedophilia.' None of these, as you may have noticed, are 'friendship.'" All of this, air quoted. Roxas would have laughed it he didn't feel enraged.

"I will forgive you for this because you have no fucking idea what you're talking about. You don't even _know_ him."

Zexion, as sarcastic and derisively humorous he could be, could also cut a bitch in two with his rhetoric. You didn't cross him. Roxas learned this when he watched as Zexion ripped a kid a new one after he bumped into him and caused the boy to spill coffee over one of his books. It happened sophomore year, and Roxas never wanted to do or say anything that would require such a verbal lashing.

"_Know_ him, Roxas? How well do _you_ 'know' him?" Zexion jumped off the bunk and got in Roxas' face, eyes dark. "If you think trading your precious secrets with that guy makes you soulmates, you are sorely fucking mistaken. Maybe I'm a little bitter, but after knowing you, _living _with you for two years, _two fucking years_, Roxas, I think I'm more entitled to 'know' you than this guy you met seven months ago who, if you recall, told me he wanted to suck your dick just to piss me off."

Roxas' cheeks colored at the memory of the night, Axel on the beach, forward and aggressive, propositioning him. It felt so long ago, now. Like they were different people completely. "He's… he's changed. He's not like that anymore."

Zexion snorted with contempt. "_Changed_? Come on, Roxas, I know you're not a complete idiot. You know where he goes every weekend, what he _does_. I know for a fact that he fucked Hayner two weeks ago. Because apparently it's fine with you, right, if he fucks strangers. But what happens when your boyfriend starts sleeping with people you know?"

"He's not my boyfriend," Roxas whispered. _You already knew he slept with Hayner. That was months ago. You already knew. Stop being stupid… but two weeks ago?_

"So you're not a fan of my terminology, that much I understood five minutes ago. The point is that he is a slut, Roxas. That is not an insult, not an attack, certainly not a compliment. It is a fact. A _fact_, Roxas."

"Stop."

"Let's examine the facts, shall we?" Zexion continued, voice rising as he lifted a finger. "One: Axel is a slut." A second finger. "Two: he is being nice to you and you are spending most of your time with him." A third finger, Zexion shaking the three in the blonde's face. "Three: HE IS STILL A FUCKING SLUT." Zexion's shout startled Roxas, and he jumped. Zexion, who was always fairly predictable (he will make you laugh, he will be useless when stoned, he will murder your papers and call it 'editing'), had never shouted at Roxas. The unexpectedness of his anger pricked at Roxas' eyes. "Listen to me, Roxas. I love you. We have established this. I love you, and I don't want to hurt you, but he will hurt you worse because you are the type of person who allows himself to be hurt. You may guard your secrets well, but I am basically a genius, and I can figure things out for myself. You allow yourself to be hurt, and he will hurt you in a way that I can't see you recovering from." Zexion placed his hands on Roxas' shoulders. "There is a fourth fact, Roxas. What is it?"

Roxas swallowed thickly. He felt so confused, so endlessly lost. "I… he's… using me?" _It's not true. You know it's not true_. "He's playing nice so he can f-fuck me?" _It's not fucking true. God, let it not be fucking true._

"I don't know," Zexion admitted. "It seems like the obvious possibility. It makes _sense_, whereas—"

"Whereas him actually liking me, eventually _loving_ me, doesn't make sense at all." _Idiot. You're so stupid. You're fucking ugly. You're pathetic to the point of hilarity. Of course it doesn't make sense._ Roxas sat heavily on the floor, his head falling into his hands.

"We don't know for sure," Zexion offered, though it was obvious the other boy did not believe this. _White lites_, Roxas thought. "It's worth exploring, if maybe you want to—"

"What I don't get, Zex," Roxas said, voice icy. "Is why you even fucking care." _Replace your sadness with anger. Replace it and point it out away from yourself. Fight. Fight them all._ "Like you said, we don't know each other. Two years, and I don't even know where you live when you're not at school."

Zexion exhaled heavily above him. "I said I didn't want to hurt you, and I don't. But he will tear you apart, so I think me telling you this is justified. Roxas, you keep telling me you are 'just friends' with him, but why, _why_ are you reacting like this if you're 'just friends?' You aren't just friends, or you don't want to be, and that is why you should know that last weekend Axel gave me a blowjob."

Maybe it was the complete horror, or maybe a small crack in reality that Roxas slipped through, but he burst into laughter; bright, crazed. Zexion frowned down at the blonde, not expecting this reaction. Roxas laughed and laughed, hysterical, uncontrolled laughter that filled his eyes and streamed down at the corners. Zexion should have been worried. He should have been worried that Roxas was broken, but he couldn't have known to be worried because Roxas had never shared the details of his past with his roommate. All Zexion knew is that there was a past, a significant one. He should have been worried.

"You're taking this better than I thought you would," Zexion said after Roxas quieted to bursts of giggles.

"Was—" giggle, giggle. A very big hole seemed to be sitting in Roxas' chest. "Was it good?" Giggle, giggle. "The blowjob. Was it good?"

"Yeah, it was pretty good, but this is starting to feel very insane asylum, Roxas." Zexion crouched down next to blonde, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Roxas' giggles quieted, and a dawning sort of horror crept into his eyes. "…No." And then he bolted.

He knew that he wanted the beach, and he was sprinting across the labyrinth of beach access paths that twisted in front of the upperclassmen dorms. He wanted the beach in his mouth, in his lungs. He wanted the beach filling him to his fingertips. _He wants everyone but you. ALWAYS everyone but you. Riku, Sora, Axel, everyone. Always everyone but you._ He hadn't realized it was raining, that he was drenched. The ocean looked terrifying, a sea of black roaring up to a sky of grey that touched too close to everything, coating Roxas' cheeks in mist and rain. He was screaming.

"FUCK!" Screaming over and over, and maybe we can watch this happen and think he is being melodramatic. We can think Roxas is overreacting. It is easy for us to sit back and watch his life fall apart, because it is not us. We are someplace else, watching this soaked blonde screaming his voice raw because he thinks he will never be loved. Because he is not worthy enough, not beautiful enough. He would like to drown himself, to take the sea into his lungs like a breath of bright sunshine right as you wake up during the Spring. He would like to drown himself, but he doesn't want the headline to be pathetic: College Student Drowns Self After Being Led On By Redheaded Slut. Or: Ugly Blonde Felt Unloved, Sharks Ate His Ugly Face After Drowning Death. Or: How I Cried A Fucking Ocean and Drowned Myself In It.

Roxas' skin felt numb as he walked back toward the dorms some hours later. The rain had stopped, but he was already soaked from head to toe, compounded by the fact that he had gone in to the water. He stood under the waves and let them knock him down again and again. At one point, unsure of which direction was up, he really thought he might drown. He'd surfaced and felt cheated, disappointed.

He knocked on the outside of HPV until someone in the corner room pissily stomped out into the hall and shoved the door open for him. The girl, blonde dreads halfway down her back and reeking of pot, was clearly tripped out by Roxas' appearance. Her eyes followed him as he went two doors down and to the right. He knocked, teeth chattering. Axel's eyes widened as he opened the door.

"Holy _fuck_, Roxas. What happened to—"

"Is true?" Roxas asked, voice steady aside from his chattering teeth. Axel's arms reached out for him and Roxas jerked backward. "DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME." Axel's expression went blank, and Roxas saw Demyx jump down from the top bunk and stand, worried, over Axel's shoulder. "I just want to know. Is it true that you've slept with everyone but me?"

Axel's expression darkened. "Is that what you want, Rox? You want to sleep with me?"

"Is it _true_, Axel?" Roxas ground out, voice rising again. "Everyone but me?"

"Sure, Roxas," Axel spat. "Whatever you like. I'm a slut, I slept with everyone." The door closed in Roxas' face and he heard a loud shatter on the other side of it, heard a crash and something slammed into the floor.

"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" Roxas screamed, every word at the top of his lungs. In his mind this wasn't Axel anymore. He wondered when it stopped being Axel and started being silver dollars and tropical waters. He wondered when it started tasting like tar and smelling like _laissez-faire_ parenting. Axel wrenched the door open, papers still fluttering to the floor behind him.

"I thought you were cool with this," Axel said, Demyx having the decency to slip out and head down the hall. "I… I'm sick. I told you. I thought you were cool with it."

"I'm stupid. Is that it?"

"What?" Axel asked, eyes squinting in complete incomprehension.

"I'm not very smart. And I don't know how to dress myself right. Is it that?"

"Roxas…" Axel said, understanding.

"I'm too short? I know you like… but Zexion is small like me, and you…"

"Roxas, _no_."

"I'm," Roxas swallowed and it hurt, "I'm ugly." Axel grabbed at him, pushing the struggling wet mass into his chest.

"Are you… are you out of your fucking _mind_? In what reality are you not the most fucking beautiful boy I have ever seen?" Roxas continued to struggle, slamming his elbows into Axel's arms. "I look at you and wonder how I ever thought anything was beautiful before. I look at you and I believe in God, Roxas. You make me believe in God. In hope." Axel's voice strained above him, bending forcefully around the words as Roxas gave up the fight and shook in the older boy's arms. "I don't want to be with you in that way, in the way I am with everyone else. I _told_ you this. I wanted to try to love you." Axel's voice broke. "But it's not working. I can't do it. I don't… I don't know how."

They stood like that for a while; out in the hallway, Axel's arms around Roxas, the blonde shaking from the cold and the wet and the current of a thousand thoughts. Roxas didn't struggle as Axel led him into the room and stripped him down. He kept his eyes on Roxas' as he pulled down the blonde's briefs and wrapped a blanket around the shaking boy, rubbing him to generate heat. Roxas couldn't talk through his frenzied thoughts, images and words racing at a hundred miles per hour, and let Axel put him in the bed, clean white sheets folding over him. At some point Roxas watched as Demyx led a very worried looking Zexion into the room and Axel lunged at him, ready to throw a punch. Demyx held Axel off, Zexion instantly snapping into his "coolly unruffled" attack stance, and Roxas wished his head would shut up enough to hear what Zexion was saying, each word like a blow that Axel flinched at. Roxas saw when the fight went out of the two boys, something Demyx said that broke the tension, and Axel returned to the chair at his side.

Roxas studied the redhead's face. _He's not even that attractive, is he? Riku is better looking._ Roxas studied the shape of the tattoos on Axel's face, marks that the redhead had never even alluded to. _I really don't know him. Sora, I know. Everything there is to know, I know about Sora._

"Phone," Roxas whispered, licking the salt of the ocean on his lips. Axel reached over to the desk and picked up his cell. The redhead was about to hand the phone to Roxas, but he stared at it and frowned, pressing a few keys before handing it over. _Probably deleting texts from his random fuck buddies. Maybe deleting nudes._ These thoughts were carried away with the current as Roxas dialed a number. On the third ring, Sora picked up.

"_How'd you get this number?_" He hadn't thought Sora would even pick up; he never took calls from numbers he didn't know. _But it's after nine. He's probably wondering if it's me_.

"Sora," Roxas whispered, and tears pooled into his eyes. _Fuck. No._ Everyone there watching, Axel, Demyx, and Zexion. Only Axel had ever heard him on the phone with Sora, and that was once and it was an accident.

"_Rox? What's wrong?"_ Sora's voice, coming quickly.

"Sora," Roxas whispered again, eyes closing against the stupid tears. He'd done so well, not crying. _Let them see. It's all fucked away. Let them see you broken._

"_Don't cry, Roxie_." And, like Pavlovian certainty, Roxas burst into tears. Demyx looked away, embarrassed. Zexion looked surprised, impressed even. Axel look like he was debating whether or not to brush the tears away, hands twitching, eyes dark. Roxas cried into the phone, angry choking sobs that didn't say "pity me" and much as they said "I want to fucking kill someone." Sora hissed over the phone, "_I hate this. I hate when you're not here. I can't help you when you're not here._" He was angry; Roxas heard Sora shove something, heart the _thump_ of it hit the floor. _How would he help me? Hold me close? Put his mouth on me?_ Sora started singing over the phone, low and undulating, something in three-four time. When had they gotten it all twisted? When had the sex threaded its way through the love, through everything? Roxas' eyes slipped closed as he listened to his best friend sing over the phone. He hoped that the world would be less heavy when he opened them again.

--

Later, in his own bed with the daylight coming in under the drapes, the soundless nothing from above him revealing Zexion had not spent the night in the dorm, Roxas reached for his phone. He didn't remember saying bye to Sora, and he didn't want him to be worried. He had seven missed calls, all from the brunette. And one new text message. From Riku.

_Why did you tell him?_

Roxas closed the phone and laughed. He laughed until his sides hurt, then he slammed his pillow against the wall. He smashed the heel of his foot into the underside of Zexion's bed until the wood splintered. A thousand questions, all unanswered, and now one more: _Why did you tell him_? But he hadn't, and even if Riku hadn't told him, it didn't matter. _He knows. Sora knows_. Had he already known? On New Year's, had he known? The two days they spent in his bed, kissing like they were finding a cure for cancer, conducting research, had he known?

More and more questions, piling down on him. Roxas wanted to scream. He wanted to _tell_ someone. _There is no one. You've alienated every fucking person you know_. There was no one, so Roxas dug into the back corner of his desk and pulled out a tiny bottle. He sifted through the anticonvulsants and the antipsychotics and anxiolytics until he found the small one milligram dots of Lorazepam. He took two, thought about taking more, thought about cramming the whole fucking bottle down his throat if he thought it would solve his problems. But it wouldn't, so he took two and crawled back into bed. Today had been a bust, but tomorrow, maybe tomorrow he would open his eyes and the world would be better. He had two finals tomorrow, both needing studying for, but it would be better.

Anything would be better. Jumping high, New Year's Eve, to be better. Higher and higher, as high as you could jump, your best friend's hand in yours. To be better. _Please_, Roxas thought, fading out as the tension left his body. _Please_.


	8. Chapter 8: Wings

**Disclaimer:** They aren't mine.

**A/N**: Roxas and Sora would like to caution against drug use. I would like to caution against putting things off until the very last second when you are scrambling to get shit done because it is almost Christmas. So much stuff to do before then. Freaking out rite nao.

There is lots of sexual content in this chapter. Just a warning.

--

**Chapter Eight: Wings**

Distance can happen in a way apart from miles and minutes. It can happen between you and an event, where you finally let go of the way that man held you down, or the way it felt in your stomach right before impact. Distance can also happen quietly, so subtle you wouldn't notice it if you didn't care, if you weren't already invested. So when Axel does the same things with Roxas—eats with him, talks with him—and is still hopelessly far away, it is something Roxas can't help but notice. Nothing has changed, but there is something distinctly different, like he'd ordered the wrong kind of onions, or used the wrong kind of spices. Axel just wasn't _there_ anymore, while at the same time being in the exact same place he'd always been.

After Roxas slept through most of his Lorazepam daze, he'd stumbled his way to Little Vista where he figured he'd smoke the rest of the night away. Unfortunately for him, the pot was all packed up with most of the residents, burning away at Naminé's to finish up a collaborative Art Studio project, the medium being Heineken bottle caps. Kairi was the only one around, and she was ridiculously "drug free" at the moment. She did, however, make him fried rice and talk about Sora.

"Are he and Riku still together?"

And, being a girl, it seemed like this was the only thing Kairi wanted to talk about because "they are so cute, right?" until Roxas admitted, yes, they are, and thanks for the rice, but he'd have to return to his Lorazepam coma. He drank a glass of water at the dining commons before returning to his hovel, Demyx and Axel present and entertaining as always, except for the gaping distance. Roxas didn't know why Axel was acting like nothing happened, or like something happened and he'd moved effortlessly past it, so he shoved down two more Lorazepam and hoped he'd sleep the night through. It was like the world was conspiring against him. The plans of his downfall were highly effective, as he woke up on Thursday with a mouth drier than the Sahara and found himself with five minutes to get to his first of two Psych finals, neither of which he'd studied for. He fumbled through them, diagnosed himself the entire time, and after a supremely uneventful lunch and dinner with Demyx and Axel, he debated dropping out of school and off the face of the world.

The parties off campus were already raging; those finished with finals, like Roxas, determined to make studying next to impossible for anyone who had a final on Friday, like Axel and half of Little V. He'd been expecting Kairi again, but Hayner, parked on the couch and exhaling a massive rip off the ice bong just as Roxas stepped in the front door, could prove as useful. Anything to help him forget what a pathetic waste everything was becoming.

"Hey," Roxas said, slumping onto the couch beside Hayner. The laptop hooked up to speakers in front of them played a very obviously pirated copy of _The Covenant_, which Roxas thought would have been pretty bad if were not comically awesome.

Hayner glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Hey." The other boy's fingers tapped against the bong, as if in debate, before passing it over. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Roxas exhaled a cloud of smoke up to the ceiling, closing his eyes. "He's not my boyfriend." Then, after a pause, "I'm straight."

Hayner snorted, taking another hit. "Whatever, man."

They watched the film in silence, routinely taking hits until Roxas didn't reach for the bong because he couldn't see anything outside of the tiny screen where the boys were walking out in speedos to swim practice. His breath caught, eyes glazed. Hayner's voice in his ear was smooth.

"How straight are you, Roxas?" A hand on his knee and sliding in between his legs, moving up and setting against him. "This straight?" Hayner's other hand turned his head away from the screen, and the mouth was on his mouth. Hayner's tongue ran along his bottom lip after the kiss, and after Hayner moved away, Roxas pulled the lip into his mouth, sucking. "This straight?"

_I don't fucking care_. Roxas moved first, curving his fingers around Hayner's neck and pulling him close, lips mashing against each other. He was so tired of complicated lust, where he couldn't just feel what the wanted to feel without being overrun with guilt and fifty million questions about how right something was or what someone would think or how it was wrong, so wrong. Because Hayner's tongue in his mouth felt _good_. Right, wrong… whatever. _I don't care. I don't care_. Hayner's hand was heavy on his chest, pushing him into the couch, and his own hand felt like dead weight on the back of the other boy's neck. All his movements felt jerky, delayed under the sluggish tendrils of pretty decent weed. Hayner trailed a hand down his shirt, a stroke Roxas barely felt, and slid his hand up, smoothing over his chest. It hardly felt like anything at all, but he was breathing open-mouthed as Hayner's lips worked at his neck.

"How straight, Roxas?" His shirt was pushed up, Hayner's tongue flicking at his right nipple, teasing, Hayner's hand cupping his erection through his jeans.

"Fuck you," Roxas exhaled, grinding his hips up. A tongue was in his mouth again—sloppy, heated—and Hayner was hard at his hip, pressing insistently. A wave of thought threatened at the edges of his perception, and he had to shout in his head, _I DON'T CARE_, fingers moving fiercely against the other boy's skin, searching out solace. His hands skimmed low, dipping beneath the band of Hayner's jeans, and the other boy grunted into his mouth, hands suddenly on his shoulders, pushing him down off the couch and onto his knees.

"I won't tell if you won't." Hayner undoing his fly and inching his pants and boxers down just enough for his dick to slide out, semi-erect and twitching under Roxas' breath. Roxas saw his own chest heaving, felt like he was watching this happen in the third row of a theatre in his mind. Hayner began stroking his cock, inches from Roxas' face. His cheeks burned.

It wouldn't be the first, not after the time with Riku, where he'd done it out of what he thought was reciprocal courtesy. Riku had talked him through, stroking the back of his neck with callused fingers. He'd told him how Sora did it, how he should suck less and use his hands more, and that's it, right there, keep going. Hayner was different, bucking into his mouth erratically, hand firm in his hair. _What were you expecting? Flowers?_ His hands, originally placed on Hayner's knees, had begun stroking, so he removed them and let them dangle at his sides. His fingers twitched, seeking skin. _Dinner and a movie?_ Both of the other boy's hands were in his hair now, gripping, holding him steady while Hayner pumped in and out of his mouth. _That stuff doesn't exist anymore. You don't even want that._

"Swallow it, baby." That was the only warning, as if he'd have a choice as Hayner pushed into the back of Roxas' throat and shot, hot and sporadic. If Roxas tried to swallow, he'd gag, so he let it trickle down, oddly reminded of the dentist as Hayner's come fell down his throat, cock still pushing deeper in his mouth. The other boy pushed him back at the shoulders, groaning as his dick slid out from between Roxas' lips, slick with spit and come. Roxas leaned back, mind completely blank. Hayner, eyes closed and breathing heavy, leaned forward and lifted him under arms, setting Roxas in his lap. "My room." Hayner's hand against him, still erect. "Now."

His mind stayed wonderfully blank as he came in Hayner's mouth one, twice, and again just before dawn. He fell asleep hoping Hayner had a bong on the other side of his bed so they could wake and bake. Roxas was not interested in ramifications or meanings or anything at all really, except how Hayner talked in his sleep and had thick scars on his forearms that Roxas had never noticed before.

--

"Are you fucking kidding me?" It was loud in his ear, and then he was being dragged from the bed and pulled toward the door. "And clothes would be good." Then Zexion was making him step through his briefs so he could pull them up, and he was pretty sure that his dick pushed against Zexion's shoulder, and _god_ couldn't he just have one hit off the bong Hayner was lighting up? But Zexion was having none of it, making him step into his jeans and tugging them up, shoving his discarded shirt at him before dragging him out the door, offering up some choice words for Hayner on their way out. Roxas, still half asleep, only tuned in when he heard Sora's name.

"…cell and I, who have only been your roommate for _two years_, had no idea whatsoever who he was. So I hung up, and he called back, and… are you _listening_, or am I wasting my breath?" The sun was just beginning to color the sky, and the ocean sounded closer than Roxas thought it should.

"What day is it?"

Zexion looked at him, abruptly horrified. "You mean to tell me that you have been getting off with that sleazeball for _days_? You had finals, Roxas. Finals!"

"Shouting," Roxas said, wincing. "I took my finals, then I went to Vista. We smoked."

"Smoked each other's _poles_. Come on, Rox. You were in his bed."

Roxas paused. "I was sleeping."

"YOU WERE NAKED."

"…Coincidence," Roxas shrugged. _How much do you hate yourself right now?_

Zexion squinted at him. "Are you being serious, or have you suffered head trauma?"

"We didn't have sex." _We had oral. "Meaningless" oral. Whatever that means._

Zexion shook his head, disgruntled, and dragged him along quicker toward the dorms. "You need sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Well _I_ need sleep. _Someone's_ friend kept calling _someone's_ cellphone that they were too hellbent on achieving orgasm to remember to take with them." He glared at Roxas, marching him up the stairs. "I told you this part."

"Sora called?"

Zexion made a noise of outrage and shoved him in their room. "Yes, he called, and after the eighth time I answered because some people like to study _without_ the incessant ringing of conveniently forgotten cellphones. I didn't know who he was, he eventually told me, he wondered where you were, I didn't know, then he freaked the fuck out. So I went looking for you, and found you naked in Hayner's bed. Everything checking out?"

Roxas crawled into his bed and curled up on his side. "Where's my phone?"

"Go to sleep." Roxas growled and dragged himself back to his feet. Zexion promptly pushed him back in. "He is fine, you are fine, and we are all going to be asleep at this unholy hour."

"I AM GOING TO CALL HIM."

Zexion thought about saying something else, decided the invisible fireballs shooting out of Roxas' pretty eyes were not things he wanted to dodge at five in the morning. He shrugged and climbed into his bed. "You, dear roommate, are on an obscene amount of crack." A pause, then, "CRACK."

Roxas mumbled under his breath and retrieved his cell from the desk. Sora answered after the third ring.

"…_Nffghgfh._"

"Sorry."

"_Where were you? I was so fucking worried, man._"

"I was just out. I… I need to come home." _Before my life implodes._

"_Tomorrow. Come early._"

Roxas felt very small, or like he was stuck at that back of some place dark, a tiny pinprick of life so far ahead that it didn't seem possible to reach. "I need you, Sora."

A long pause, a hopeless sigh. "_Tomorrow._"

--

"I am green and fuzzy. Don't you want to eat me?" Zexion, almost… singing? Except it was more like speaking with emotion. "I taste like acidic piss and bile, but Roxas loves me." Roxas felt the rough fuzz of a kiwi pressed against his cheek in what was supposed to be an alluring manner. "So _juicy_."

"Get that shit off my face."

"Testy, I see." A load of kiwis were dumped unceremoniously on his chest. "I, who brought you this vast treasure from… forty-five feet away, am met with such testiness? I should cut your hands off."

Roxas cracked his eyes open, looking up to see if Zexion was… yes. Yes, he was high. "Pothead."

"Cocksucker."

Roxas, who had bit in to a kiwi, choked. "He _told_ you?"

"Hayner's big mouth does more than give excellent head, not that I've ever had such sleazy delicacies. He was telling tales of your conquest over lunch."

Roxas, eating the insides of a kiwi, paused. "…Lunch?"

"It's five o'clock. You slept all day, Mr. I'm Not Tired, Let Me Have Weepy Emo Convos With Some Guy I Kept a Secret From My Roommate of Two Years." Roxas gaped at Zexion, slightly awed. "Not a word, thanks. I'm off form this afternoon. I read _Middlemarch_ in one night, spent valuable stocks of energy looking for you, then took a three hour final from hell. My brain needs lubrication in the form of massive quantities of pot I will soon partake of at Vista."

"When are we going?" Roxas asked, splitting open his third kiwi.

"_We_ are going nowhere. You are not in the right mental landscape to subject yourself to the awaiting horrors."

"Weed and alcohol."

"Horrors, yes."

Roxas looked Zexion square in the eyes. "I'm going."

Zexion looked at him like he had five noses or seven eyes or some really specific deformity. "_Why_? Aren't you regretting your little evening of indecent exposure? A.K.A., aren't you being Roxas?"

Roxas sucked thoughtfully at the last kiwi, and he noticed Zexion's eyes were on his mouth. _Hmmm_. "I regret," lick, slow, and pressing the fruit to his lips, "nothing."

Zexion was unfazed. "You might want to buy that thing dinner first, and you should stop bullshitting me. You are feeling regret."

Roxas grinned, licked the juice off his lips. "No. I'm not. I'm being healthy and fucking _normal_ for once." _Liar._ Zexion didn't have a suitable comeback. Casual sex is not a crime, Roxas remembered. Axel had casual sex all the time. _Fuck Axel_.

Zexion's mouth quirked, then he shrugged. "Well, let's go, then. I'll babysit your retarded ass."

Roxas, throwing clothes on, rolled his eyes. He wanted to get drunk, so he was going to get fucking drunk. _One more night. I just have to make it through one more night._

--

Whiskey sours. The kids were starting to pour into Little Vista, and Zexion, the clever bastard, had him sipping down whiskey sours. The deal was that he could drink only what Zexion brought him, and only when he decided. While Zexion was on his fourth vodka and RedBull, Roxas was on his third whiskey sour. Because he hated whiskey, and Zexion knew this. _Motherfucker_. He smiled wryly at his roommate bent over a Scrabble board with Olette, rambling madly about how, _yes_, that was a word; he was an _English_ major and _knew_ these sorts of things. A variety of board games were kept on hand at Little V, often used in the mostly sober hours of the party before things really got going and stuff like pissing in the toilet properly began to prove difficult, much less going for the triple-word-score. Roxas glumly watched the game of Scrabble unfold, sipping on the cursed whiskey, wincing at the taste.

Roxas' mind, still wonderfully blank, hummed eagerly as Pence brought out the bong. Zexion took one look at his lit up face and raised a finger.

"No."

Roxas scowled as Zexion followed Pence and assorted other partying denizens into the back, and Roxas made small talk with Tidus, the other blonde predictably high on some more exotic drug that Little V didn't keep on hand. Of course, within the minute that Zexion moved to the backyard for a smoking session, Demyx and Axel walked in through the front door, each boy offering a nod and a smile at Roxas. _Shit_. He began to sip his disgusting whiskey with greater determination. _Drunk. We are getting drunk and we are getting it now_.

Demyx and Axel disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with their respective drinks; Demyx with two bottles of Heineken with missing caps, and Axel with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. _Never seen him drink tequila. Gross_. A group of kids Roxas thought looked like freshman started a drinking game with Axel, and he tried hard not to feel left out, doing his best to continue talking with an increasingly incoherent Tidus. Axel took shot after shot, and Roxas couldn't help but think that he looked happier, way happier than Roxas ever remembered him looking while they were drinking together.

_Hate yourself_. The whiskey burned in his throat. _Just hate yourself. He'll probably fuck one of those freshman kids later. The cute blonde on the end. He looks just like you._ Another gulp, all fire down his throat. _But better. Like you, but better._ Axel wasn't looking his direction at all, Demyx on the phone with his girlfriend. _Everyone has someone. I have gross whiskey and Zexion as my babysitter. FUCK_. He looked sadly at the rest of his whiskey sour and set it aside. _Fuck it. We'll go when Zexion gets back_. Then he looked up again toward where Axel sat, and found the other boy staring at him, the crowd of freshman gone.

It seemed like he'd never noticed the color of Axel's eyes. He had, but it seemed like this was the first time he felt like he fully appreciated them. Axel's gaze was intense, like it could set you on fire. Hypnotizing, compelling, it made him feel wanted, like he was the only thing in the room. Demyx was leaned over, saying something to Axel, but Axel was waving him off, not interested. Roxas swallowed hard and tore his eyes away, staring at his discarded whiskey sour and wondering whether or not he could finish it. _Buzzed, but not drunk. God, I need to get the fuck out of here_.

He saw Axel rise to his feet out of the corner of his eyes, and his attention snapped back to the redhead. Axel was coming toward him. Wordlessly, Axel took him by the hand and led him out the door. Demyx looked pissed as they passed him, and Roxas realized he was drunker than he felt. _Maybe we're going to smoke. Maybe things can be normal again_. Axel smelled like alcohol, the burn of tequila coming off him heavy as the night breeze blew into Roxas' face. They were headed down the beach access stairs, and everything felt so familiar.

At least, it was familiar up until the point where they hit the sand and Axel pushed him to the side of the stairs, into the dark, and put his mouth on Roxas' neck. Fevered presses of Axel's lips against him, everything smelling like alcohol, and his breath was ragged out of his mouth as Axel's hands slid up his back, under his shirt. They were quiet, Axel's mouth working down to his collarbone, the blonde's head rolled back, eyes on the stars. Roxas' heart, pounding away in his chest, was connected by a fine string to the pit of his stomach, twinging as Axel's fingers brushed lower. Axel's hair felt softer than it looked, smelled sweet past the tequila, and his brain was screaming at him. _Yes. More. Yes. MORE. YES._

Axel's mouth back at his neck, by his ear, then back to his collarbone, then down, his shirt lifted up, right above the button of his jeans, and then. _Oh fuck_. He swayed as Axel's hands unzipped his jeans, fingers inching his briefs down. Axel placed another kiss right at the dip in his skin below his hips, and desire unfurled like a whip, burning, in his stomach. The spark of it startled him. _I want this._ But…

"No." His hands held Axel's wrists, his briefs barely covering him, his erection just below the band already halfway down. Because Axel had kissed him everywhere, was going to kissing him everywhere, except the mouth. He wouldn't kiss him on the mouth.

Axel spoke to his navel, hands motionless in Roxas' fingers. "I thought you wanted this."

_I do._ "I thought you didn't."

They were motionless for a long minute, and Roxas wished Axel would just say all the right words, would say the things he wanted to hear so this could happen. But Axel wouldn't, and Roxas knew he didn't want to hear them anyway. He dropped Axel's wrists and zipped up his jeans as he walked away, the wind cool on his cheeks.

He was in his room packing when Zexion stumbled in. Roxas zipped up his backpack before his roommate could talk and grabbed the other boy in a hug.

"Have a good break." He moved passed Zexion and into the hall, leaving the other boy speechless in the center of their room. He'd go home early. He'd go to Sora's and hold him and scream until there was nothing left in his lungs. _Sora. Sora. Sora._ His mind chanted his best friend's name as he drove. He thought about lots of things—razors, pills, cold steel—and only Sora's name would push them out of his mind. His hands trembled against the wheel and he kept his eyes on the odometer, counting down the miles.

--

It was two in the morning as he knocked at Sora's front door for the second time. _Should've called. He's not expecting me. Maybe I should try Riku's_. He knocked again, and this time the door opened under his fist revealing Riku, shirtless, clad only in boxers. _Oh, fuck_.

"Sorry. I'll… I'll just go." He turned to leave, but Riku's hand grabbed at his shoulder, pulling him into a hug.

"Don't be stupid."

Riku smelled like sex. "You guys are… busy. Sleeping." He felt dim as Riku walked him up the stairs, hand on the small of his back.

"His parents are on that anniversary vacation thing." The lilt in Riku's voice, lightly dazed, told Roxas that Riku was high. "We were bored."

Sora sat up in his bed as Roxas came in. The entire room smelled warm and smelled like sex and chemicals, and Roxas wanted to run. Sora got to his feet with movements like a child's, completely naked, and pulled Roxas into a hug. When Sora spoke his voice dripped with love; tired, sated.

"You're early," he said, voice sloppy and barely covering the words. His arms around Roxas' neck were light, fingers plucking at the tips of his hair. Roxas didn't know what to say, could feel Sora erect and pushing against him. _He's so high. He doesn't know. Oh, fuck_.

And then they were kissing. Riku, standing in the doorway watching, and they were kissing. His hands at Sora's waist, bare skin soft under his fingers, and Sora's tongue swirling in his mouth. Riku came up to them, and Roxas pulled away, a dangle of spit extending from Sora's mouth to his. The world was muted. Riku turned Sora's face at the chin and drew him into a kiss. Roxas swallowed Sora's spit in his mouth and wondered at how he had never seen them kiss this close before except in his head. All of his clothes felt too tight as he glimpsed their tongues each time Riku shifted his head. _Oh my god._ Then Riku broke the kiss and turned his eyes toward Roxas, Sora's half-closed eyes observing them. Then Riku kissed him.

His eyes closed briefly, relishing, then fluttered open and moved to Sora's face. Roxas didn't know what he expected; maybe shock, maybe hurt, but he certainly did not expect a calm curiosity. Curiosity and a jealous twinkle in his best friend's eyes. Roxas pushed Riku away and fled, thundering down the stairs.

_What the fuck? What the fuck?_ He didn't want to go home. They would find him at home. He drove with practiced ease to the Crest, the same spot the three of them sat at in the back of Riku's Mercedes and talked the night away. The same spot Riku laid him out on, made him come on. _What the fuck?_ Roxas turned his car off and pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. Nothing made sense anymore. He thought he loved Riku. But maybe he loved Sora? And what the fuck about Axel? _Maybe… maybe there is no such thing as love. Maybe it's just sex and the lies we tell ourselves._ He didn't have any cigarettes, didn't have any tears to cry. He felt empty, drained of everything. _Just stop beating. There's no point. Just stop_. He did the only thing left to do. He slept.

--

Riku was lying on the hood of his car, face turned toward the sky, when Roxas woke up. He debated slamming on the horn just to scare the shit out of him, but decided against it. He got out of the car and climbed up on the hood next to Riku, laying back.

"Cigs?" Riku asked.

"I'm out."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

It was cool for March, the sound of the freeway faint below them. It took Roxas a moment to realize something was missing. _The tension?_ _I'm not even trying to "accidentally" brush up against him._

"We shouldn't have," Riku said, eyes on the sky.

"Yeah," Roxas said.

"I'm in love with you." Riku sat up and stared down at Roxas, blocking the sun.

Roxas waited for the rush of elation, for the joy. He felt nothing. "No, you aren't,"

Riku bit his lip, thinking. "Yes. Yes, I am."

Roxas sat up, blinking away the sun. "You're confused."

Riku, staring at his hands. "Sora said you're in love with me."

Roxas was silent for a moment, then he started laughing. Riku stared at him, brow furrowed. "Sorry," giggle, giggle. "This is… unbelievable." He laughed hard, and Riku petted him lightly on the hair. "Love doesn't exist, man."

"Yes, it does."

"…Okay. Whatever. Maybe. I don't know. I'm in love with you, too, then." Roxas laid back down, his head in Riku's lap.

Riku was silent, stroking his hair. Then, "And Sora."

"…And Sora." Roxas wanted a cigarette or some breakfast or fourteen hours of dreamless sleep.

A pause, then, "I told him, you know."

"What? I thought you said _I_ told him."

"Not Christmas. The first time. Here. I told him."

Roxas' blood froze up momentarily. "_What?_"

"I couldn't lie to him, man. I love him." _Oh shit. He never showed any signs of knowing_. "Funny thing is, he wasn't really mad. He was sad." Riku's fingers against his cheek, chasing away an insect. "He beat himself up pretty bad, saying he wasn't good enough for you, and what the fuck did I have that he couldn't give you. I dunno." The sun got brighter and both of them squinted. "I kinda hated you after that, because it was obvious he was in love with you. Every time we fuck, he gets so hard when I talk about you. He wants you so bad, Rox." Riku laughed, bitter. "If I ever need to get off, all I have to do is mention your fucking name, and he's all over my nuts."

"He's my _best friend_."

"So? He's mine, too. I don't have that freaky E.T. shit you guys got going on, but he's my best friend, too." Riku smiled, knee jostling up under the blonde. "You're the alternate."

"Yay," Roxas said lamely. "And we're all… fucking in love with each other."

"Maybe." It was a long time before Riku spoke again, the sun high overhead. "We are so _fucked_." Roxas chuckled. "But I don't really care. As long as I have you both. I don't care." Riku's hand in his hair felt nice. "You want to shoot some H?"

"Yes."

--

There had been elaborate plans to drive to Tijuana over Spring Break, and they had been saving up for months, but what with their recent conclusions, that plan had gone to shit. So the rest of Saturday, Sora at work, Roxas sat in Riku's room and shot heroin for the first time. It felt good, but not as good as the waffles Riku made his chef cook afterward. They kissed briefly, but mostly they just held each other and tried hard not to think.

Sunday morning, waking up in Riku's bed, both of their clothes still on, Roxas left and headed for Sora's. Sora, awake and shooting hoops in his back yard, brought out a sack that they spent the rest of the day smoking. They kissed a lot, and Sora mentioned how cute Roxas would look as he orgasmed. Roxas, turned on and taking a hit, only smiled.

Monday morning, waking up in Sora's bed, most of their clothes off, Roxas left and headed for home. His mom scolded him for staying out all weekend without seeing her and introduced him to Mitch, who ate his Cinnamon Toast Crunch, the motherfucker. His mother and the new guy went out, and Roxas took a shower and fell asleep in his own bed. He woke up to the feeling of weight added to his mattress, and Sora was sitting on the edge, holding up a new sack of pot. Riku was on his laptop, bitching about how his software was outdated, and didn't he know that LimeWire would get his ass lawsuited. They rolled a couple blunts and smoked in his back yard.

Tuesday morning, recycle, rinse, repeat.

Wednesday morning, recycle, rinse, repeat.

Thursday morning Sora woke up sandwiched between Riku and Roxas on the bed and declared they should go to Disneyland. Roxas said he knew where they could pick up some tabs of acid. Most of the trip was a blur, though Roxas remembered riding Space Mountain five times in a row, the fifth time during which Riku gave Sora handjob in the car ahead of Roxas'. A sixth time was suggested, and a second handjob, Sora offering one to Roxas. He kissed Sora on the mouth, much to the alarm of several mothers with small children behind them, and declined.

Friday morning they smoked out again, and Roxas felt like a pimp as he watched Riku work over Sora on the grass. Sora's pants down around his knees and his mouth open, emitting the hottest sounds Roxas had ever heard, Riku's head bobbing up and down, one hand pressed up to Sora's chest and stroking.

Saturday afternoon they were at Sora's, smoking and swimming.

"We should just do it," Riku said, watching as Sora and Roxas raced in the pool. Sora won for the third consecutive time.

"What?" Roxas, out of breath, swimming to where Riku sat, propping his elbows up on the edge of the pool.

"A threesome." Sora swam up behind Roxas, nestled his chin into the curve between Roxas' neck and shoulder.

"I'm down," Sora said, arms wrapping around Roxas' torso.

"Where?" Roxas asked

"My place," Riku said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. Sora climbed out of the pool, taking a hit off the pipe.

Roxas peered up at Sora, the sunlight illuminating each droplet that clung, sliding, to his body. He saw Riku staring at Sora in the same way. "Yeah." The two boys looked at him, smiling. "Let's do it."

Sunday morning found Roxas waking up in Riku's dark room, naked. Riku was smoking a cigarette, and a glass of orange juice was clutched in Sora's hands. For a moment Roxas wasn't sure, but he knew they hadn't. He'd watched Sora and Riku have sex, and then Sora made out with him while Riku gave him a blowjob. It didn't count. _Fuck_.

"We need to get off drugs," Riku said, putting out his cigarette in an ashtray and passing the pack over to Roxas. Sora started crying.

Roxas lit the cigarette, a Camel, with shaking hands. Sora cried harder and Riku left the room. "I'm so fucking… I'm so confused, Sora." Roxas wanted to hold him, he wanted to take his best friend into his arms and hold him, but he couldn't. There was too much lust tied up into everything. They couldn't touch each other, not now.

"Don't go back," Sora pleaded, wiping at his eyes. "I don't want you to go back." Roxas put his cigarette out, set the ashtray on the floor, and turned to Sora. "Stay. We'll get clean together, all three of us."

Roxas felt like his heart was breaking. "I love you, Sora. I can't stay."

"You can! Just stay with me!" More tears, all of them fierce.

"_No._" Roxas got up, left half of his heart on the bed, shoved on his clothes, and made his way to the front doors. Riku was waiting with his keys.

"He broke up with me, Rox. You were still out, and he woke up and said he was breaking up with me. He said you're not leaving, so you better get the fuck out now while he's still crying."

"Shit." He grabbed his keys out of Riku's hand and hurried out the door. _Shit shit shit_. Sora got what he wanted. If he wanted Roxas to stay, if he really wanted him to stay, then Roxas would stay. He wouldn't be able to leave, wouldn't want to anymore. "Shit." His keys did the thing where they refused to turn in the door, and he heard Sora approaching.

"You were going to leave without saying goodbye, Roxie?" He sounded hurt, betrayed.

"I can't stay, Sora. I have school." Sora was dressed only in boxer briefs and a bright blue hoodie. He looked adorable and Roxas felt like killing himself. "I'm so sorry. I love you."

Sora unzipped the hoodie slowly and put it around Roxas, making the blonde put his arms through, then zipping it up, hand coming to rest on Roxas' collarbone. _Kiss him_. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't have." _Kiss him._ "I'll see you when you get back." _Kiss him, hug him, fucking just touch him. Just touch him._

Roxas balled his fists and turned back to his car, twisting the key viciously until the door opened. He drove away and didn't look back.

--

The sun was setting as Roxas walked to his dorm. He decided against heading for the bluffs; instead he went straight for his room. It was dark inside, Zexion not back from wherever it was he lived when he wasn't at school. _I should find out sometime. Stop being such a shitty roommate._ He wondered if he should feel alarmed. He'd just had the most impossible week of his life, but he felt… happy? _No, that's not right_. But it was like Riku said, "_As long as I have you both_." It wasn't only him feeling like nothing was right and like he was a slut or indifferent or couldn't figure out what love was supposed to mean. _People fall in love with their best friends all the time. It's okay. And people fall in love with their best friends' boyfriends all the time._ He paused, frowned, and punched his pillow. _Okay, so maybe not at the same time._ His cell went off. One new text message.

_Nice hoodie_.

From Axel. _Close the phone and put it away. Don't talk to him._ But why? He didn't have to hide from anything anymore. He knew. He was fucked. Everything else was just noise. He texted back, "Stalker. It's Sora's." The response was almost instantaneous:

_That's cute._

Roxas smiled and stuck the phone under his pillow. Maybe the idea was cute, but the situation, the reality of it, wasn't cute at all. It was terrifying. The phone went off again and Roxas groaned. Wasn't Axel mad at him?

_How was your break?_

Roxas debated how he should answer. _I spent the entire week baked out of my fucking skull? I almost had a threeway with my best friend and his boyfriend, both of whom I am in stupid love with? I went to Disneyland?_ Roxas bit his lip and responded, "Complicated." A few minutes went by, and he figured Axel had probably gone out; it was Sunday, after all. Then the phone went off again.

_Can we hang out now?_

There was a knock at his door as he read the text. Roxas bit back a small smile and pulled the door open. Of course, Axel, on the other side, eyes calling up the same nervous tickle in Roxas. They said nothing, Roxas turning his phone over and over in his hands, Axel studying him. When Axel moved, slowly, it was to pull the hood up and over Roxas' head, the bright blue framing his face.

Axel smiled around the words he spoke. "How does pizza sound?"


	9. Chapter 9: Flux

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: Ch. 8, "Wings," fanart from the lovely **pouikee**: the Hayner/Roxas couch sesh. The link is up on my profile. GO!

Oh. I guess I should mention that I'm on "indefinite hiatus." Except here I am. Updating.

Christmas is this week, so I tried to beat off the angst with a stick, but you know how we do. Characters do what they want. I had this long involved chapter planned, with like birds singing and puppies wagging their tails, but none of that cutesy shit wants to happen. I apologize. HAVE HORNY!ROXAS INSTEAD. (I hate that word. "Horny." Ew.) So have a Merry Christmas, if that's your thing, or Hanukkah, Kwanza, Festivus, and all the amazing other ones that you have totally got to tell me about sometime. How about this: Happy Holidays.

Good? Enjoy.

--

**Chapter 9: Flux**

It is probably unconscious, the process by which we catalogue the people we know. All the ways you can know a person—history, appearance, the way their mouth moves when they talk, the way their car sounds, how they shrug when they're pissed off—you catalogue them in your head. Maybe a couple people share the same nervous fidget or the compulsive tucking hair behind the ear when talking, but after awhile you figure you got them all down, filed and locked away in the labyrinth of your mind. After eight months of knowing Axel, Roxas was nervous at how large Axel's file was becoming. There were just so many _things_ to notice, every day something new.

Lunch, for instance. After the spontaneous "it's not a date" pizza thing, Axel began taking Roxas out on "they're not dates" lunch things where, though Roxas had eaten lunch with Axel at least four hundred times in the dining commons, he'd never seemed to notice the peculiar way that Axel didn't really eat at all as much as he took a few bites and pushed his food around.

"And _that_ is when I knew," Axel said, waving chopsticks in the air, a perfectly swirled strand of Pad Thai dangling perilously over the oversized bowl of coconut soup in front of them. "I knew that, without a doubt, I was destined to sell drugs. I just knew." And where someone who was normal, or someone who ate food, or someone who was just not Axel would have eaten said strand of delicious perfectly spiced noodle, Axel smiled at Roxas and dropped his chopsticks back to his plate, swirling again and again. Roxas didn't know what to make of this, if Axel had always done this, or if this was particular to their "not dates." Each time he thought of bringing it up, Axel distracted him with his latest lunch selection.

"I was thinking Italian." Axel, slouched in the driver's seat, thumb at six o'clock.

"We had pizza the first time," Roxas pointed out, gearing up to add that Axel had taken five bites and had spent the rest of the time staring at him with his freaky green eyes that, Roxas was sure, were looking right at his mouth the entire time, unendingly aware of the way his slice of pizza would attack his mouth like a thing crazed, slopping delicious tomato sauce over the lines of his lips like a kindergartener with a coloring book.

"You're keeping track?" Axel asked, amused, then tossed Roxas his pack of cigarettes. _Damn, he took them again_. "Domino's hardly counts as Italian."

The important part was not to overthink anything. They weren't dates, and they were just friends, and besides he had his own convoluted love triangle to worry about. There was the issue of Sora on the phone with him every night, still broken up with Riku, and in some sort of perma-stoned stupor that made Roxas feel 1) guilty, 2) murderous, and 3) helpless in a panicky Fuck Everything kind of way that irritated his bladder and found him in the bathroom once for every half hour with Sora on the phone. Riku, who texted once everyday, would send the one word "sup" or the two word "fuck man," both of which were expected and reasonably untroubling. Nonetheless, it was all Roxas could do to not scream in frustration every minute of the day.

So, when Axel said they were going somewhere, somewhere that was not a place Roxas could watch him not eat, he grew excited.

"Where?" Roxas, resisting the desire to clap his hands and bounce up and down in Axel's dorm. He scowled instead, putting on the face that said What Do You Want This Time.

Axel shrugged, sliding his freakishly thin arms into the sleeves of a purple—_Purple?_—hoodie. "This place I heard about."

This place he heard about turned out to be a small concrete tunnel defaced with graffiti that led into a tiny room littered with beer bottles, three walls dedicated to more graffiti of the "MIKE WUZ HERE" sort, and the fourth wall was absent, opening up into a small ravine, the sound of running water below them.

"Send me all your vampires," Axel said in the gloom. He'd claimed it wasn't safe to make the trek in daylight. Illegal things like trespassing tend to be easier at night.

"What?" Roxas asked, aghast and feeling imaginary bugs slipping down the back of his shirt. The flicker of a lighter revealed the phrase in electric blue spray paint, huge and deranged looking over the left wall. "Uh, cool."

Axel smirked at him before flicking the lighter closed, and Roxas saw him sit cross-legged on the unsanitary looking floor. A warning about some sort of Hepatitis—_A? B? C?_—resounded in his brain, but he took a seat next to the redhdead, drawing his knees up to his chest. Roxas was content to just sit in silence, let his mind wander over questions of geometric shapes, triangles namely, and strictly not pay attention to the rise and fall of Axel's chest as he breathed. Sometimes they would go and sit places and Axel would not be able to stop talking, but other times they would sit and stare and say nothing at all, Axel's eyes trained on something in the dark, some speck of light Roxas couldn't see.

"April is my favorite month," Axel spoke quietly, jutting his chin up once toward the ravine. "April 29th is my favorite day.

"Uh, cool." Roxas stuck the tip of his thumb in his mouth, teeth capturing a nail. _Cool. Uh, cool. You are a complete idiot_. He was about to bite down, sever a slice of keratin, when Axel pushed his hand down.

"Don't bite your nails." Axel, eyes glued to something he couldn't possibly see in the darkness.

"…Yes, mom."

"Your mom tell you shit like that?" A small bitter laugh, more like a forceful exhale. "I could probably chew off all the skin on my hands, and my mom wouldn't give a shit."

Roxas tried to bite down on his thumbnail again, and Axel slapped his hand away. "Ow, bitch." Then, "I'm sure she'd give a shit if you ate your hand off."

"We're talking about a woman who let me tattoo my _face_. You serious?"

Roxas shrugged. "People show affection in all different kinds of ways. You can't be too hard on them."

"Dr. Phil or some shit?" Axel produced Roxas' pack of cigarettes and pulled out two, lighting both before handing one over.

Roxas took a measured hit, wondering how to phrase his answer. "Talk shows are bullshit. I'm just saying," pause, inhale, "that I don't, like… I don't do regular stuff with my friends. I show them I care in different ways." He could feel Axel's eyes on him.

"Yeah?" Axel opened his mouth in a small "O," a perfect ring of smoke floating up and out as the redhead worked his jaw. "How?"

_Nice one, dumbass. You can't tell him this shit._ "Well, I definitely don't smack the shit out of them for attempting personal grooming."

"Biting your nails is not personal grooming, smartass."

Roxas chuckled, flicking his cigarette. "We just…," the smile on Roxas' face turned wistful. Axel, staring intently out of the corner of his eyes, raised his eyebrows like he knew what was coming next.

"You suck each other's dicks or something, Rox?"

"Not… not _exactly_."

The redhead touched a hand to Roxas' shoulder, turning the other boy inward to meet his eyes. "Are you fucking serious?"

Roxas shrugged. "It's not like it happens all the time. These are, uh, like recent developments or something."

"I thought you wanted to bone your best friend's boyfriend or something."

"…"

"_Roxas_," Axel said, leaning in with eyes wide. "This is not healthy for you, man. You can really fuck yourself up by being in a situation like this."

_Too late_. "And you know all about 'healthy' situations, right?" Roxas blew a cloud of smoke in Axel's face. He was fucked, he already knew this, but like Axel had any room to talk?

"I don't pretend to have everything figured out, but you think I don't know that I'm fucking myself over?"

"Right, well, I know it, too." Roxas glared at the redhead, and before he had the sense of mind to shut his mouth, more words tumbled out of his lips. "I've always loved Sora, and now I can show him. Him and Riku." A hint of malice sat on his words, and he flicked the ash of his cigarette with an audible swish. "At least I love them."

Axel, still leaned in close, stared intently for a few seconds, the exhales of his breath landing warm against Roxas' cheek, his cigarette burning away in his left hand. He reached up and pulled Roxas close, the blonde's shoulder digging into his chest. "There is a _difference_, Roxas, between _sex_ and _love_."

Suddenly flushed, Roxas tried his best convincing eye-roll. "Whatever."

"There is," Axel insisted, tugging Roxas again and again, shaking him.

"_Okay_," Roxas said, voice tightening. "I said whatever."

"There is," Axel said again, pulling the blonde close, lips ghosting at Roxas' temple.

"Fuck you." Roxas jerked his shoulder up, trying to dislodge the redhead's limb from his body. Axel held him tighter.

"There _is_, Roxas."

"Repeat yourself another fucking time, why don't you?" Heart racing, he tried to shove Axel away. _Fuck him. Fuck love._

There was a moment of hesitation. Roxas thought that he could feel the question under Axel's skin, a simple yes or no, a should he or shouldn't he. Just as Roxas was about to shove Axel again, the redhead's lips pressed to his temple. With this simple press, Axel's lips dry and the smell of smoke thick between them, Roxas felt himself turn into the touch, body reconfiguring itself to fit perfectly against the shape made by Axel's ribs and arm, leg and lips, his whole left side seeking out docking ports and nerve endings.

"See?" Axel said, lips moving against Roxas' temple. "No sex."

Roxas felt his head moving, cheek nuzzling the hand against his shoulder. _Stop it. Stop it_. "This isn't love."

The hand against his shoulder moved and slid around his chest, thin fingers gliding up his neck, knuckles tilting his chin up until Axel's eyes were on his. "Then what is?" There was no challenge in the older boy's voice, almost no inflection at all other than the haunt of uncertainty, a husky drop followed by green eyes that didn't blink at all. The look would've been feral, predatory, if it reached Axel's lips. Instead the line of the redhead's mouth was flat, sad almost.

_Flowers_, was the first thing Roxas thought, which, in reality, means nothing at all and is maybe slightly disturbing given the anatomy of flowers. Predictably, _Dates_, was next, followed by _Kissing_. None of these things, Roxas realized, had anything to do with love at all. He thought of Sora, feather touches in bed with him back when they still wore all their clothes and he didn't know what Sora tasted like, didn't know the sounds his best friend made when arched up in pleasure. He thought of Riku, sitting on the stairs during lunch and listening to him with rapt attention as he related some incident while in rehab, some horror cloaked in the safety of time, back when the memory of Riku's fingers wasn't seared into his skin, branded forever with stolen lust. _Love is attention? Love is proximity?_

"Love is…" he tried, licking his lips. He shuddered as Axel's thumb ran just under his bottom lip. "It's not able to be described." _Idiot._

"You don't believe in love." Axel's eyes, burning Roxas up in that impossible way, like they're seeing every last inch of him.

"I do." _Do I?_ His head tilted back almost imperceptibly, lining their mouths up, eyelids lowering. _Do I?_ "I dunno."

"I feel like…," Axel began, inhaling the air between them and letting it out in a quick sigh, defeated and brave all at once. "…_I love you_." The whisper resounded like a sharp snap in Roxas' mind, slingshotting him over to Sora's bedroom, Sora's bed. Whispers, touches, deft hands and dancing fingers twining breath and intention together. The images dissolved as Axel's hand shifted, fingers curving around the side of his neck, index finger coming to rest behind the base of his ear. "I love you," Axel said again, eyes searching. A whimper bubbled at the back of Roxas' throat, eyes slitted. _This is the part where we kiss. This is the part. Now. Or now._

Except the kiss would not come, Axel's finger stroking behind his ear softer than soft. _He's trying to make a point, genius._ He began to feel ridiculous, melting in Axel's hands, but his body seemed to be locked in a decidedly feminine swoon, eyes still trained on Axel's through his lashes. His lips parted and he was aware of every minute point of separation, everything magnified a thousandfold under Axel's stare, and he was reminded of particles and beams and how things observed know they're observed.

"If you keep looking like that, I'm going to kiss you." Axel's voice was low, the whisper replaced by a rough edge; serrated knives like hunger sitting right at the corner of his mouth and working their way into his eyes. Roxas' heart pinged.

"That would be bad."

"Would it?" Axel asked, and his mouth was closer than Roxas thought he could handle, heart slamming in his chest. _Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck._

"You'd prove me right," Roxas said, eyes slipping closed and head tilting back.

The same moment of hesitation, a question running like a current of electricity in the air, before Axel moved away, hands relaxing and sliding away from Roxas' body. For the entirety of three seconds Roxas had a screaming match with his libido, beating it back from its attempts to knock Axel down and fuck him into next week. _Sex and love, sex and love. Don't get it twisted_.

"Shit, Rox," Axel said. "Couldn't they have made you a little uglier or something?" Axel's hands shook as he lit another cigarette. "I need to get _laid_."

_I'm right here_. "Yeah. Me, too." _Because a blowjob from Riku doesn't count as sex. That was weeks ago. Maybe Hayner is interested, since this motherfucker is clearly locking you up in the Friend Zone._

As if on cue, Axel said, "Listen. I know that kid, Sora, is like your best friend or whatever. But, like… I've never really had any guy friends." A wry smile. "Because I fucked all of them. So you're my best friend, alright?"

"Sure," Roxas said. _Friend Zone. Fuck._

--

But the problem is that Sora was his friend, too. Sora was his friend, had been in the Friend Zone for as long as he even knew him, and then suddenly he was across the line, lips wrapped around Roxas' dick in the form of Roxas' hand and a vivid imagination. _Sora Sora Sora Sora_. It was Sunday, he didn't know what time because the curtains were drawn and Zexion wasn't in. It was Sunday, and he was jacking off. If he was honest with himself, he would've known there was nothing "sudden" about how "suddenly" he wanted Sora riding him, making those incredible sounds that he'd heard every single night for the past couple of weeks. Even before they kissed for real, even before they broke all the rules and talked in the sounds of lust dressed up as love, even before then Roxas had seen Sora this way; moaning, flushed. It was supposed to be about imagining Riku having sex, so why was Sora always there? Sora and Riku, fucking. It was always the same little scene, Riku laid out and Sora with his hands pressed down on the other boy's hips. He always came when Sora came. Or at least that was the general rule of thumb until his little chat with Axel.

_Sex and love, sex and love_. It was hot, that much he could register. Sunday morning, his sheets tossed down toward his feet where his briefs were bunched. It was hot, and at some point he'd stopped seeing Riku and Sora. His mind kept pointing at something vaguely redheaded, but Roxas would_ not_ jack off to Axel. There was no point. Well, there _was_, but he didn't want to come and feel miserable immediately afterward. _Sora and Riku._ He picked up speed, working his lower lip between his teeth. It was hot, hotter than it had ever been before, and his hips were rocking of their own volition. _Fuck_. Because you don't think thoughts. They just appear. Axel's mouth around his dick. It just appears.

"Axel," he moaned, feeling a little thrill at the way it sounded out loud, heavy with want, in his mouth. He didn't have to try too hard to get the scenario right: a dark beach, tequila, Axel's mouth. He was moaning loud, completely lost, hips jerking into that hot mouth, perfect lips in an "O," thin fingers gripping his hips. "Nn—_fuck_."

It was without a doubt the best jerk off session he'd ever had in his entire life. When the Axel in his head slid a finger into him, Roxas came. If you've ever caught yourself snoring, half-asleep and jolted suddenly awake by that weird noise that you can't believe is coming from your own mouth, then realizing you're moaning in ecstacy as you ride out the last wave of an orgasm is not too far different. Roxas immediately quieted, jerking his briefs back on with one hand.

He knew, as Zexion opened the door literally one second after Roxas wiped the come off his hand with a tissue, that his roommate had probably been standing outside waiting for him to finish.

"Nice day," Zexion said, standing in the middle of the room.

"Uh."

"What's that? You'll have to speak up. I think I might've gone a little deaf."

"Fuck," Roxas sighed, clapping a hand over his face.

"Yes, that's the one. Just a couple decibles louder. And the 'me, Axel,' part. That, too."

Roxas flipped off his roommate briefly, pulling open the curtains. "You are way too interested in this for your own good."

"What can I say?" Zexion asked, scaling the bunks. "I'm surprised to find that he has done any fucking at all. I was under the impression that he is usually the fucked."

"…Oh," Roxas said. Would this be a problem? The image of Axel infront of him, beckoning, made him suddenly very aware that he was clad only in his increasingly tight briefs. "Oh." Zexion smiled at the sudden pitch change in the blonde's voice.

"Shall I pop open a bottle of bubbly? You're clearly about to jizz in your pants."

"I just," Roxas gestured, "I… didn't think about it that way."

"So he's been fucking you?" Zexion asked conversationally, surveying Roxas over the top of a literature anthology.

"What? No!" Roxas said, stomping over to the desk where Zexion had thoughtfully smuggled him three white peaches out of the dining commons. "He's like… got me in the Friend Zone, or something," Roxas said, tearing into a peach with utter abandon. _My hands… I should probably wash them first._ He licked a finger experimentally and then shrugged. _Tastes normal._

"I saw that," Zexion said.

"Stalker."

"Pervert. Being all perverted with my beautiful peaches."

"Whatever, dude. Can you give me some like… skills to get him to like me in the non-lame way?"

"You sound like a fourth grader."

"Whatever!" Roxas exclaimed, flinging a peach pit at the university-issued trashcan. "I want him to like me." _And Sora. And Riku. Because I am fucking slut and can only think with my dick_.

"And you're asking _me_ for advice."

"…Yeah."

"I'm asexual."

"He gave you a blowjob."

"It was an accident."

Roxas glared, the second peach infront of his mouth. "He slipped and fell on your dick. With his mouth."

"PLEASE TO STOP WITH THE SEX TALK," Zexion said loudly. "It's making my asexual skin crawl." Roxas frowned and continued to feast, routinely making loud sucking noises. "You," Zexion said after Roxas more or less fellated the third and final peach, "need to get laid."

"I have Palmela for that."

"…Please tell me you did not just call your right hand 'Palmela.'"

Roxas smirked and wiggled his fingers. "You're going to hurt her feelings."

"Your spiral into depraved lunacy only supports my theory: you need to get laid." Zexion tapped thoughtfully on the cover his book. Then, "I volunteer myself."

Roxas choked on some air. "Seriously?"

"No."

"_Fuck,_ Zex. I'm being serious. Can we like hatch an evil plot to get him to want my sexy body?"

"Your body isn't sexy. It's adolescent. Do you ever eat?"

"Fuck _you_, dude."

"Okay, I take it back. You have a very nice butt. And the outline your cock makes against those jeans you're fond of… _very_ aesthetically pleasing."

"…Are you high?"

"Yes."

"FUCK!" Roxas shouted, feeling hysterical. "I'm going to Vista."

"He was asking for you at lunch," Zexion called as Roxas, finally fully clothed, walked out the door.

_Great. Asking for me. Probably wanted to go on another not-date._ A cigarette blazed to life under his fingers, and he was only faintly aware of the asphalt under his feet. _I could drive home. Fuck Sora. Drive back. No one would have to know._ And so and so forth his thoughts continued. It was just his state of mind, hyperaware and hyperaroused, and he didn't _really_ want to know what Sora's blowjobs felt like. He didn't _really_ want his best friend moving against him. Right? They'd only kissed, and while it had been heated, hands wandering, that was as far as he'd ever been with Sora. _Sora Sora Sora Sora_.

The customary haze of smoke welcomed him as he walked in the front door of Vista, Naminé and Hayner sitting on the couch, a bong between them.

"Hey," Naminé said warmly, and Roxas fought off the desire to roll his eyes. How many times had he seen her greet a newcomer in the exact same manner, only to turn to someone and talk shit as soon as the person left the room? How many times did she put on the "I'm fine" face, and then latter blog about it like she was the only person in the world with a problem? Naminé was always fake happy, pleasant and cordial happy. She looked nice in a dress, but the girl was a liar.

"Hey." He jutted his chin out at Hayner, the universal male greeting, and received a chin jut in return, Hayner's glazed eyes trailing lazily over his body. Roxas found that he liked the attention. "Drinks?" he asked, looking toward the kitchen.

"Go for it," Hayner said, taking another hit off the bong. Roxas wondered if a contact high counted as "doing" drugs. Ever since Riku suggested they quit, he'd done his best to stay away from typical Vista fare. Staring at the bottle of Popov on the disgusting counter, he wondered if drinking shitty vodka counted as "doing" drugs. _You drink, or you go back out there and sit in Hayner's lap. Decide._ Roxas made a face at the Popov and walked back into the living room… where Hayner and Naminé were making out. He could've thought about it a little bit, how even though both of them were "gay"—obviously in Hayner's case, though he always kind of figured Naminé was full of shit and just tired of all the assholes she'd been with—it was still possible for them to make out like the world was ending. Instead of thinking about it, Roxas turned back into the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of Popov, and headed for the backyard. _Cockblocked. Everywhere I turn. Cockblocked. Fucking fake lesbian bitch_.

Little Vista's backyard looked more like an abandoned overgrown lot than a real backyard, patches of knee-high grass packed down in circles from various groups of potheads, charred spots from random makeshift bonfires. Roxas, swigging from the bottle of vodka, was interested in finding a soft and shady portion of grass to drink himself silly, drown out all semblance of thought, but instead he found Demyx. While it was customary to find Demyx with a guitar in hand, or at least a bottle of alcohol, Demyx was sitting, knees drawn up to his chest, in the middle of the backyard with nothing at all but a somber expression.

"Hey," Roxas said, plopping down next to the boy and extending the bottle of Popov.

Demyx took a pull and handed it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like they do in movies. "Hey."

"What's going on?" Roxas thought of freshman year, of singing for hours with Demyx and Xigbar. He remembered thinking then that they were his new life, his new friends that would replace the way he fucked up with Riku and the way Sora was in his blood. Demyx was supposed to have become his new best friend. Now they hardly spoke. _Things change_.

"Girlfriend broke up with me," Demyx shrugged.

"Why?"

"Dunno."

Roxas tried to have a positive thought about the small brunette who flitted around Demyx, cute in an innocuous sort of way, but the vodka was starting to kick in. In fact, he couldn't have a positive thought about a single member of the opposite sex. "Girls are bitches."

"Yeah," Demyx said, reaching for the bottle again. "But I don't blame her or anything. Getting along with other people is hard."

_What?_ "I dunno, Dem, I get along with you pretty well."

"No," Demyx said, smiling softly. "I mean, we can hang out and stuff, but not to the extent where we're like the best of friends." Demyx glanced at him, handing the bottle back. "Don't get me wrong, you're cool, but… it's different. That's why it's hard to find really good friends."

"…I have no idea what you're saying," Roxas said stupidly.

"I'm just ranting," Demyx shrugged. "We try to blame shit on other people all the time. We all fuck up, all the time, so it's everyone's fault… and no one's. Can't get hung up on blame. Let life happen, y'know?"

Roxas frowned, feeling the vodka wreak havoc in his stomach. "How the fuck are you so optimistic?"

Demyx laughed, rubbing at his eyes. "How the fuck are you not? Life is awesome, Rox."

Roxas snorted, backwashing a little into the mouth of the bottle. "Alright, Dem."

"I'm serious. I mean, I get down just like the rest of us, but on bad days I go outside and look at the beach and remember that I'm alive. I can get up and leave, take myself out of bad situations. The world is seventy percent water. That's a lot of water. Our bodies are seventy percent water. Or liquid or something. The _point_ is that… we're fluid. We're not trapped here. If life sucks for you where you are, leave and make it better."

"Easier said than done," Roxas said, peeling off the label from the bottle.

"Of course it is. Everything is easier said than done."

Roxas chewed on his bottom lip, already having trouble stringing together the right words. _When did the sun go down?_ "I need some of those happy pills you're on, man."

Demyx stared at Roxas, smiling the same soft, slightly sad, smile. "You need to _let_ yourself be happy, Roxas."

"Easier said than done," they said together, followed immediately by a burst of laughter.

"I'm drunk," Roxas said, slumping against Demyx's shoulder. "We drank half the bottle."

"_We_?" Demyx laughed, patting Roxas on the head. "You wanna grab a burrito? I'm starving."

"I just ate like five million peaches. Didn't you have lunch?"

"…I've been here since she broke up with me last night. Right here is where it happened."

"Oh my god, dude." _That means he really is starving. And Axel probably had to eat lunch alone until Zexion showed up. And I didn't call him at all today. Shit_.

"Yeah, you're wasted. I'm gunna go grab something. You want me to bring anything back?"

"I'm gunna," Roxas said, attempting to get to his feet, "go back to the dorms."

"Whoa, you can't even stand. Are you sure you ate before you drank this shit?"

"Peaches," Roxas said, nodding. "Amazing."

Demyx looked at him worriedly. "You _sure_ you're gunna be fine? Not gunna fall off the bluffs?"

Though a waist-high chain link fence stood at the edge of the bluffs, it was still common for a plastered kid or two to somehow fall off the edge and wind up dead on the sand below every year. Sophomore year a kid Roxas had class with ended up dead, discovered by a morning jogger. Roxas remembered walking to the spot on the beach where the body was supposedly found. He remembered staring at the spot and feeling something akin to anger.

"I'm fine," Roxas said, already stumbling his way toward the dorms.

"I'm going to check up on you later, okay?"

"Bring the happy pills," Roxas called over his shoulder, raising a hand and flapping it around.

_Demyx_, he thought, tripping over his feet every couple steps. _Demyx is a nice guy. Nice lips. Great laugh, almost like… a giggle. I'd fuck him._ His hands moved toward his phone before he figured out what they were doing. He couldn't figure out who he was calling until he realized there was only one number he'd be able to dial even if he was blindfolded and both of his arms had been chopped off.

"_Rox?_"

"Hey, baby."

Sora laughed brightly. "_Baby?"_

"I want you so bad, Sora."

More laughter, and Roxas moaned lightly as Sora's voice called out goosebumps on the back of his neck. "_I can't believe you drunk dialed me, Roxie."_ There was the distinct noise of Sora hopping onto his bed. "_How bad do you want me_?"

"…Mm, bad," Roxas said, voice taking on the quality of a sleepy toddler.

"_You want me to make you come?"_

"God, yes," Roxas said, trying another key before he realized the dorm he was standing in front of wasn't even his own. The door was propped open with a flip-flop, so Roxas hauled the door back, wandering two doors down and to the right, knocking with drunken determination. _Where am I?_

"_Rox?"_

"I'll call you later, Riku."

"_Riku?_"

"What?"

Another giggle. "Sleep it off, Rox."

As Sora ended the call, the door in front of Roxas opened. Axel smiled at the blonde, phone still pressed to his ear, until his grin faltered, brow furrowing.

"You drunk or something?"

"I—" _Want you so bad I can taste it. Fuck me now, love me later._ "I—"

"Here," Axel said, pulling Roxas in by the arm. "Sit your drunk ass down and drink some water."

Roxas stumbled in and collapsed on Axel's bed. He didn't realize the pillow was clutched to his chest and he was inhaling deeply, probably groaning, until he heard Axel laughing. He peeled the pillow away from his face and stared up at the redhead, one hand leaning against the top bunk, bent forward with a water bottle in his hand. _Look at his face. He doesn't want me at all._

"Enjoying that fresh laundry scent?"

"You," Roxas said stupidly, accepting the water and chugging it with abandon.

"Me?" Axel asked, shoving Roxas' legs over and sitting on the edge of the mattress.

"Smells like you." _STOP RIGHT NOW. STOP TALKING._

"You like the way I smell."

"Mm," Roxas agreed, batting at Axel's arm with the now empty bottle of water. The dull _thunk_ made him giggle. "I'm bored." _Let's fuck._

"I was watching this documentary on Chichen Itza."

"Laaame_,"_ Roxas said, extending the word until Axel laughed again.

"Man, you are fucking wasted. What would you rather watch?"

_You. On my dick. Now._ "Porn."

"Why? You wanna have like, a circle jerk or something? And by 'circle,' I mean the two of us jacking off to Demyx's straight porn."

"Friends… watch porn together."

"I don't know about you and _your_ friends, Roxas, sucking each other's dicks and shit, but I'm pretty sure regular friends talk or… walk around or something."

"Wait, so," Roxas slurred, gesturing at nothing, "so real friends _walk_ and _talk_. Wow."

"Go home, Roxas."

"No," Roxas said, sitting up. "I want to know what kind of friends we are."

"The kind that smoke drugs and watch porn together, apparently."

"That's what I thought, bitch," Roxas said, pointing at the T.V.

The porn, shoved under Demyx's mattress, was called "Cum Dumpsters 7." Axel kept a running commentary as the plotless scenes unfolded, creating histories for each character. At one point the redhead paused the DVD and explained to Roxas how "fucking unbelievably hot this guy is," some thin-limbed brunette with emo hair and an eight inch dick. Watching the emo kid pound his way to orgasm, Roxas couldn't help but think that this must mean he had some hope. _I mean, if he was with Hayner. And Zexion. And like everyone ever except me, then he can't really have too much of a type._ Still drunk, Roxas decided to be a little bold.

"He doesn't look like your type."

Axel chuckled, waving Roxas off. "You have no idea what my type is."

"Manly men," Roxas countered. "Huge dudes with muscles and like… raaar."

"The guys at the bar? Roxas, I don't think you know… enough about the situation."

"What?" _Seriously, what?_

"Well. You act like I have sex with random ass guys every weekend. Do you know how many times I would've contracted AIDS and shit if that was really happening?"

Roxas shrugged. "I dunno."

"You must think I'm like the biggest slut ever. I mean, I like sex, but I usually see the same couple of guys. I don't make friends with a stranger's dick every weekend. That's… not who I am."

"…Oh." _What?_

"I mean, yeah, whatever, I fuck around a lot, but not with complete strangers. Unless I'm really fucked up, I won't let them fuck me if we're meeting for the first time. Like, uh, I guess he told you, but I blew your roommate."

"Yeah." _God, kill me now._

"I try not to have sex with people I know or see a lot, but fun is fun, right? Except that blonde asshole at Little Vista."

"Hayner?"

"Yeah, that bitch. We fucked a couple times."

_Why are you telling me this?_ "He sucked my dick."

"Finally. Did you like it?"

Roxas shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "I came."

"No shit, but did you _like_ it."

Roxas thought about Hayner's mouth, sliding over him. _Riku was better_. "Not really."

"You can tell me if I'm freaking you out. I have no one to talk about this shit with, so it's kinda… blah, all over you."

"It's cool." _No, it's not._ "Friends are supposed to tell each other things."

Axel smiled, pulling Roxas into his lap. "You're fucking cute."

"Cool."

The porn continued in the background as Roxas felt his eyes slip closed, slumped back against Axel's chest. It felt so warm in Axel's arms, but not in that stifling way that feels like you can't breathe. _It's nice._ Axel's hand was in his hair, thin fingers combing through tufts, fingertips rubbing lightly at his scalp.

"Meow," Roxas said lightly. He couldn't help it, nuzzling the touch sleepily.

"Sleep," Axel said, the touch turning into a stroke, smoothing his hair down.

Roxas drifted away, following dream kittens as their twitched their tails, beckoning him away into a cloud. Before he lost consciousness completely, Roxas remembered something Axel said earlier.

"So what type?"

"Hmm?" Axel's hand now at his neck, fingers moving back and forth with a movement so slight it was almost unnoticeable.

"You said I don't know your type. What type?"

Axel was quite for a long time, the gentle touch at the blonde's neck lulling him into a pleasant hum. Finally, and in a voice that Roxas heard from far away, hidden behind clouds and impossible distance, Axel said, "Blondes. Small, cute blondes."


	10. Chapter 10: Thievery

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: LOL? No, but for real: new fanart, including two gorgeous pieces by **ironyofalostkeyword**, a double dose of adorable by **happyvoicescry**, and another Roxas and Axel by **pouikee**/**uncanadian **that is _so_ fucking beautiful… words escape me. All at dA, links up on the profile. Sorry about the month long break. Shit was crazy; I got it sorted. Reviewers new and old: you are all awesome. Next time you review, I will tell you how much. Promise.

This chapter will make your eyes bleed. Also: sexual content through the roof. Enjoy.

--

**Chapter 10: Thievery**

Compound interest. A formula for change over time, and maybe your eighth grade shop teacher said you could be a millionaire at forty if you play your cards right. The idea is patience, and one day you wake up a million dollars richer. Patience, slow change over time, and one day you wake up a little taller, a little wiser. One day you wake up with a handful of neuroses, carefully cultivated over time. Compound interest, a bunch of bad habits. You don't even notice the slow decline, a road that takes you down by the merest of fractions, acceleration undetectable by the human eye. Then you're hitting a turn going 80 miles per hour, steering wheel like churning setting concrete. And you're fucked.

The first time Axel asked Roxas to come out with him on a "date," he said it was for moral support. Friday, coming back from a particularly gruesome dining commons dinner of chicken cacciatore, the sky purpling over like the aftermath of violence, and Axel was nervous, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. Roxas knew something was up. They'd been cool. The new semester was tough on the older boy, twenty units of upper division History classes that had Roxas only seeing him at meal times and around campus. A drink at Vista. An errant nudge walking between classes. They were cool, though. Despite whatever lower inclinations Roxas felt, they were cool. Friend Zone cool.

"Hey," Roxas said, walking in step next to the redhead.

"Hmm?"

"…You're going out tonight?" Because, like clockwork, Axel still went out every weekend. It was never an idea that could sit well with Roxas. Even if he couldn't have him, he knew that, as a friend, it's still not the kind of behavior you'd want a friend engaging in. He didn't like the way Riku shot heroin. He didn't like the way Sora was always stoned, showing up for work late all the time lately. He didn't like the way Axel fucked around. Strangers or no strangers, it was still weird. Wrong.

"Yeah," Axel said, slowing before they walked up the dorm stairs, detouring over to the concrete bench Roxas liked to smoke on. Roxas pulled out a new pack of Parliaments, handing them over for Axel to pack. It was a funny quirk of the redhead's that gave Roxas a tiny jolt of joy every time Axel reached out for a new pack. Something about the way the pack hit against the flat of the boy's palm, a sharp repetitive slapping sound; frenzied, quick. _Maybe that's how he jacks off_. Turning over a lucky in the pack, Axel spoke again. "…Actually, I have a favor to ask."

Roxas accepted the cigarette Axel lit, pressing it quickly to his lips to stop something stupid from coming out. _A favor?_

"I was just… thinking." Axel's hands shook lightly as he smoked, and Roxas felt the volume of the world turn down. "Like, maybe, if you, y'know, wanted to, you could come with me tonight."

_And suck some guy's dick with you? What the fuck?_ Roxas felt his cheeks warm, brows lowering in anger. "Are you serious?"

"I don't mean… y'know. You wouldn't have to do anything. It would be cool if you waited for me, though. So I don't hang around..." Inhale, exhale. "…wearing out my welcome. Moral support. Shit like that." Axel's forced nonchalance had the effect of Roxas having no idea what the hell the other boy was suggesting.

"Like wait in the car?" _While you get fucked?_

"Yeah. Or whatever." Axel wouldn't meet his eyes.

The suggestion was easily one of the most nauseating things Roxas had ever heard. _Why would he even ask me this? What the hell am I going to do while he's busy getting fucked?_ Axel, however, didn't appear to see a problem with the proposition, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for Roxas to do, waiting around for Axel to finish fucking some guy. _Or guys, god knows. Fucking slut._ He sat, smoking furiously next to the redhead, anger rising as he found the idea more and more erotic. _Fucking slut. He probably likes it. He probably wants me to like it._ Because, with Sora out of commission for the foreseeable future, Roxas had no one to talk with in any valid way. His thoughts were increasingly ridiculous, sexually charged and bleeding out with sullen bitterness. He had a lot to be bitter about, didn't he? His defective personality, or something, that made him good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love, to be with.

"Yeah," Roxas said suddenly, and Axel flinched. "I'll come."

"Really?" Except it didn't sound like a question.

"Yeah. I'll bring some homework or something." Roxas smoked his cigarette right to the filter before tossing the stub to the floor and rising to climb the stairs, leaving Axel sitting on the bench alone.

--

The drive to the bar, Axel speeding on surface streets, was short and chaotic, rock music blistering over the speakers so loud that Roxas couldn't even decipher the melody. They pulled up to the same dark blue bar Roxas remembered Axel taking him to, an unlit sign emblazoned with a steel "Q's," the night he admitted his weekend activities. The bouncer hardly glanced in Roxas' direction as they stepped in the back entrance. Axel quickly scouted out a table on the side, disappearing and reappearing with a glass of something dark and disgusting for Roxas. They'd hardly been seated for five minutes, Roxas' underage nerves jangling in his arms while he wondered why Axel wasn't talking at all, when Axel grinned maniacally and rose from his seat.

The redhead swaggered up to a towering man dressed in nondescript blacks, a flame of auburn hair the only revealing feature Roxas could see from his seat. The contact between the two was immediate, the man grabbing Axel by the hips and pressing them together in a way that made Roxas' heart pound. _Fucking slut. Slut slut slut._ He frowned at the surge of desire he felt, bringing the drink to his mouth and taking a burning swallow. _Why did I agree to this? Am I fucking retarded?_ He stole glances at Axel and the man from time to time, stomach burning away with each touch the man stroked up Axel's back. _I'm definitely better looking than that guy. Definitely_. He bit his bottom lip hard and tipped the glass up, finishing the last of it. _I wonder how big his dick is._

"Rox." Axel's voice at his shoulder made him jump a little. "You okay drive?"

"Uh, I guess."

Axel tossed him the keys to the truck. "Follow us. Keep it on the down low, ok?" Axel didn't wait for the affirmative before walking out the door, the huge guy already disappeared into the night. Roxas rose to his feet hastily, hurrying out the door. He didn't have the sense of mind to be annoyed or indignant, his mind full of irrational thoughts like, _Oh, fuck, he's going to get raped. Oh, fuck, I'm going to lose him and he's going to be stranded there. Oh, fuck._ He was clearly drunker than he felt, and it took him three jumps to get into the driver's seat of Axel's truck. He stupidly tried to put the truck in reverse and instead found himself careening forward, slamming on the brakes before hitting the car parked in front of him. _This is probably the worst idea ever_. A red corvette gunned it down the street beside him, Axel's eyes on him in the passenger seat, and Roxas swore, navigating himself out of the parallel parking space before tailing the corvette.

The drive was uneventful aside from how he repeatedly hit the wipers instead of the turn signal, and he found himself parked across from an average cookie-cutter house on an average suburban street, the red corvette like a sore thumb parked in a driveway. His Social Psych text sat open in front of him, words illuminated in the streetlight since Roxas thought turning the overhead light on might be too conspicuous… not that he could actually focus enough to read, anyway. He'd read a paragraph on interpersonal communication over and over again, his mind stuck on hopeless repeat. _He's having sex right now. Right now, Axel is having sex with that huge fucking guy._ They'd been inside for nearly an hour, and Roxas wondered how long it would take. _How many times will he come? Will they cuddle afterward? Smoke? Drink? Shower? Are they using a condom?_ His hands shook against his thighs, and he wondered for the millionth time why he'd decided to come.

When his phone rang at 9:01pm, Roxas felt like his arms were made of lead, an infinity between the time he connected to the call and raised the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Sora."

"…_What's wrong?_"

"Nothing."

"_Liar._"

"…"

"_Don't be like that, Roxie._"

Roxas closed his eyes, squeezing them tight. "I'm just angry or something, man."

"…_When are you coming home?_"

"Sora, you ask me this every single night."

"_So?_"

"Midterms are in four weeks. I'm coming home that weekend."

"…_Can't you come tonight?_"

_Why, so we can fuck? So you can suck me off? I love you. Why are we doing this?_ "No. I'm doing a favor for that Axel guy."

"_You like him, huh._" It wasn't a question.

"We're just friends," Roxas said, voice toneless.

"_You can't bullshit a bullshitter, Rox_."

"You're not a bullshitter, Sora."

"_Whatev, man, I'm faded and you're being retarded._"

"…Okay, man. Whatever."

"_Why are you being like this?_"

"Like _what_, Sora?" His voice rose, and despite the way he knew this wasn't about Sora, he was gearing up to go off on him. "Can't you just get back with Riku already? You're being pathetic. You're like a pothead now, man. It's gross."

"…_I don't want him_."

"YOU'RE KILLING YOURSELF. YOU NEED HIM."

"_I only need you._" Roxas didn't like the way Sora wouldn't get angry, was too fucked up to understand that Roxas was yelling at him.

"Well, what if—" _Don't say this. Stop. STOP._ "—what if _I_ don't want _you_?"

After he said it, he immediately regretted it. It wasn't true, it was something else talking, some steam screaming its way out of him. What the hell was he doing? He loved Sora; of course he wanted him, needed him.

"…_Do you mean that?_"

_NO!_ "I don't know what I mean."

"_I'll talk to you tomorrow._"

"Listen, Sora. I—"

"_Bye, Roxas._" Sora ended the call.

Roxas thought about breaking his phone in half, thought about plowing into that shiny red corvette. He thought about screaming, tearing the pages out of his stupid fucking textbook. Thought about setting himself on fire. He was flicking his lighter when Axel opened the passenger door and climbed in. Shocked by the suddenness, Roxas sat silently for a few minutes. Axel, hands pressed between his knees, head down, said nothing. Roxas started the truck and felt like crying. They drove back to Kingdom in silence.

As soon as Roxas parked, Axel hopped out of the truck. Roxas wondered if this was normal, his body feverish with fury or regret or a million racing adjectives as he locked up. Axel was crouched behind the truck, body shaking.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Roxas stared down at the older boy, feeling completely helpless. "Ax?" The redhead rose unsteadily and moved toward Roxas, grabbing him into a shaking hug, his hand sliding into the strands of hair at the back of Roxas' head and pressing the blonde's face into Axel's chest. Roxas felt Axel breathing into his hair, his whole chest vibrating with effort. He smelled like sex. "It's okay," Roxas said, voice muffled by the expanse of Axel's chest. His hands pet Axel's back, soothing, and Roxas felt the panic reserved for Sora bloom bright in his ribcage, next to his heart. Sora's psychotic breaks, little slips into cracks of unreality, and here was Axel falling apart. Axel, who was so strong, who acted so hard.

"I'm sorry," Axel whispered into Roxas' hair, still shaking. Roxas thought of running his finger around the lip of a champagne glass, how the crystal vibrated and sang; trembling, structures collapsing.

--

There were five of them. Five guys Axel would see, never the same one twice in a row. After the third time Roxas tagged along, he started waiting in their living rooms, Axel introducing him as, "a friend." It probably would've been better for his sanity if he stuck to Axel's truck where there was numbing silence or the predictable sounds of a street at night. Instead Roxas endured the creaking of bed springs, the knocking of headboards, and assorted vocalizations of pleasure or domination that were never quite drowned out despite the volume of flatscreens, volume on some dated comedy turned up to a comfortable level that Roxas never dared touch.

Roxas never took Axel for a screamer, and he was right with the exception of one of the guys. A tall brunette, a frightening scar dropping diagonally across the guy's face. Roxas worried that it would be rough, that Axel would come out bleeding and shaking like he had with that sick blue-haired fuck with just as bizarre facial scars, Axel having to hold him back from running inside to kick the bastard's ass, but it was entirely different. The guy—Axel never volunteered any names—gave Roxas a beer and a selection of DVDs before taking Axel down the hall. Hallways had proven to be miraculous, putting enough distance between the fucking and Roxas' ears to save his sanity for a couple hours. Roxas was sprawled over the guy's couch, on a second beer nabbed from the guy's fridge, and navigating the main menu of _Constantine_ when his breath caught. He'd been getting used to the noises: loud elongated moans, gruff commands, degrading remarks… all of them not Axel. He'd secretly been looking forward to it, to hearing Axel get off and how maybe he'd be able to jerk off and listen and imagine, but Axel was quiet. Roxas figured he was all sighs and breath… until this guy.

Thumb hovering over the "play" button on the remote, Roxas had narrowed his eyes, holding his breath. _Is that… are they laughing?_ Axel, who never made any sounds that gave Roxas any indication that he was enjoying himself, who would shake when Roxas drove them back to school, who, after that blue-haired sick fuck, threw up into the street until he dry heaved, arms marked and bleeding. Axel, who, from what Roxas could tell, was physically repulsed by the sex, was actually _laughing_. Then the moaning started. At first Roxas wasn't sure, tip-toeing over to the front of the hallway and listening, but the curl in the voice, that timbre... that was Axel. Axel, moaning like he was in love. Roxas had anticipated having to wait out an erection, had anticipated being so turned on that he'd be driven to jack off in some stranger's living room, but the reality of it was different. His back slid down the wall of the hallway as he listened, and it felt like air would not enter into his lungs, like he couldn't inhale enough.

When it was clear that the two of them had finished, Roxas crawled toward the couch, selecting a scene from the end of the movie and doing his best to look attentive. When Axel emerged from the hallway, he was positively _glowing_, his lips pulled up into a smile Roxas had to blink a couple times to believe, the brunette's arm around his shoulder. _He's cute_, Roxas admitted about the guy, and he felt like crying. They walked to the door and, with Roxas already outside, the guy pulled Axel into a kiss that made Roxas' stomach drop to the floor. _Fuck_, he thought, not able to look away. _Maybe he's in love with this guy. Look at how he's smiling into it. He totally is in love with him. Totally._ But when the two of them pulled away, the brunette whispered into Axel's ear. Axel laughed, but Roxas saw how his eyes dimmed, how he went blank inside. Axel said through a laugh, eyes flickering in his direction, "Nah. He's straight."

Roxas would've never gone again if every time Axel was smiling, turning the stereo up and singing loud on the way back, smiling at the way Roxas let the wheel slide in his hands as he made turns, but it was just that guy. The other guys, and the couple of random strangers Axel took into the restroom at Q's, always left the redhead shaking, eyes unreadable. Even if Roxas wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to stop coming with Axel. He didn't like it, but he couldn't stop. The redhead sitting in Roxas' bed, pillow clutched to his chest, and Roxas would sing him choir songs until Axel stilled. He'd talk animatedly about nothing, doing random things like wear socks on his ears, until Axel smiled.

Axel never talked about any of the guys.

--

Roxas had never been so happy to see the end of midterms, a two hour Social Psych final so brutal that a student collapsed outside the lecture hall, a $1.50 cup of coffee clutched in her unresponsive hand as the paramedics pulled up. By the time Roxas spied Axel walking toward the dorm stairs, he was bouncing off the walls, ready to expend some energy at Vista before driving home.

"YES!" the blonde shouted, barreling down the breezeway before Axel stepped into his dorm.

"Hey, I heard about that student passing out. I heard it was a blonde girl. Figured it might've been you, anyway," Axel smirked, winking.

"Oh, ha _ha_, motherfucker. Can we party now?"

"Wait. _You_ want to party?" Axel looked skeptical. This was _Roxas_, after all.

"I want to get drunk, dude. I want to get WASTED!" He was shouting. He didn't know why he was shouting. _Sora is waiting for you. Axel is going to get fucked while you're gone, and you won't be able to take care of him afterward. No shit, you want to get wasted._ "Can we go now? Zexion left a couple minutes ago." Zexion, who Roxas had seen maybe once in the past two weeks, had given Roxas one look that said I Am On The Verge Of A Mental Breakdown before dropping his shit on the floor and turning back out the door, headed for Vista. Roxas didn't blame him; he was an excellent student, and it didn't come from just anywhere. It came from hour after hour of studying in the 24 hour study room on the first floor of the library, the only stimulant present being a bottle of No-Doz.

Axel shrugged and closed the door, mouth quirking. "Alright, man."

Roxas beamed and careened down the stairs. "Hey, so how were your midterms?" he asked, pulling out two cigarettes.

Axel shrugged again. "Hell. I kept getting wars and shit mixed up. I'll be lucky if this doesn't shit all over my GPA."

"What do you have?"

"Like a 3.8 or something. I dunno exactly."

Roxas stopped walking. "_What?_"

"…What?" A confused smile on the older boy's face.

"You have a fucking 3.8 GPA?" Roxas gaped.

"…Yeah. Is that a bad thing? Not high enough for your I.Q. prerequisite or something?"

"No," Roxas said, embarrassed. "You're just, like, really smart."

"Yeah, well, I try." They started walking again, Axel glancing at the blonde and chuckling. "Why, what do you have?"

Roxas swallowed thickly. _Shit_. "Not a 3.8, that's for sure." _Because I am a fucking imbecile._

"Oh, come on. I bet it's not that bad," Axel said, bumping his arm into Roxas' shoulder.

"OH, look. We're here." Roxas darted inside the front door, nearly plowing into Pence who, somewhat mystifyingly, held a piñata. Def Leppard was blaring over some speakers hooked up to a laptop, a group of people dancing in the living room. Though it was only midterms, a banner proclaiming, "F.I.N.A.L.S – Fuck, I Never Actually Learned this Shit," hung sideways from a wall, drawings of blunts sketched erratically all over it. Suddenly Zexion was in front of him, grabbing him by the neck and exhaling a cloud of pot into his face.

"THE PRODIGAL ROOMMATE!" Zexion was completely fucking gone.

"Hey, man," Roxas said, laughing. So maybe he was too stupid for Axel. He wouldn't fucking cry about it, though. A righteous kind of anger pumped in his veins.

"Dude, we're totally dry! The cops rolled up and threatened Pence because last night they caught drunk freshman coming out the front." Zexion's eyes, peering at Roxas from slitted lids, were completely bloodshot. "And he said he would _shoot_ him, man! The cop said he would shoot him if it happened again!"

"He didn't say that, Zex. He's a cop."

"FUCK YOU, DUDE! HE SO DID!" Roxas couldn't help but laugh. "So there's no alcohol, but Hayner's brother came down from Humbolt with the _best_ weed I have ever fucking smoked, man!" Zexion thrust a bong in his face. "PARTAKE!"

Getting fucked up is the easiest thing in the world. Roxas didn't do it very often, usually having the sense of mind to get drunk without getting wasted, get high without getting completely fucked, but this was a special occasion. If he was A) legitimately stupid, B) probably going to fuck his best friend, and C) never going to have Axel, then why not? Who cares? So you take your poison into your hands, take a deep breath, and consecrate it: _fuck it_. The motto of the damaged youth, of the bitter and the broken: fuck it. Roxas took the bong and lighter, took a deep breath, shrugged, and said, "Fuck it." Zexion whispered, "The body of Christ," while Roxas inhaled.

Roxas stumbled around stupidly, six tokes in his system, looking for the couches to sit on, before he realized they'd been moved into the kitchen to make room for the impromptu dance floor. He was taking a hit off a joint as another Def Leppard song came on over the speakers, a cry of excitement going up in the crowd as a sick riff electrified every nerve in Roxas' body. He shouted along an approximation of the words, throwing a fist up and getting lost in the group of sweaty, pulsing people. He didn't have a single thought in his head, just a bass kicking his heart in and a chorus that left his lips like a curse. Roxas was pulsing with the crowd when he felt a hand slide around his right hip, settling just below his waist. He titled his head back against a chest and found Axel smiling down at him, green eyes glazed. A feeling of supreme well-being settled over his body, and Roxas swore he melted into the other boy as they screamed the chorus together: "POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME!"

Roxas felt dangerous, like he could do anything, have anyone. It was the pot, he knew it was the pot weighing down his arms, speeding up his breathing, but he turned in Axel's arms anyway, swishing his hips into the older boy's, head titled up to meet Axel's eyes. _Dancing. We're just dancing_. Roxas wanted to kiss him, wanted to knock him down and fuck him right there. Axel didn't look away as Roxas slid his hips against the redhead's, mouthing the words, cheeks flushed. It was imminent, bound to happen any second; Roxas would close his eyes, and Axel would lean in. It had to happen. _Please. Please kiss me. Please_. But the song ended, giving way to a burst of hip-hop.

"You're so fucked up," Axel called down to him, and his hand was cupping the blonde's cheek. Roxas wondered when that had happened.

"I-I love you." It just slipped out. Roxas couldn't control it; it made its way up his throat, scrambling, slid over his tongue and swan dove out past his lips. Kamikaze. Suicide.

Axel smiled and leaned down, turning his head, "What?"

_Say it again. Tell him_. "I need water," Roxas whispered into Axel's ear, lips ghosting over flesh. Axel pulled away and nodded, heading toward the kitchen. _I need water? What the FUCK, Roxas?_ A joint was passed to him, and Roxas took it, inhaling until his fingers burned. Would Axel want to dance with him again? Was it just the song? How long did it take to get water, anyway? The thoughts were all tugged away, sliding from his mind like water off a polished curve; trailing, gone. Roxas pulsed to a song he didn't know, obliging as Kairi danced up and ground against him, leaned back with one hand on his shoulder, crotch digging into his. She pecked him on the lips before dancing away to another guy. Then Hayner walked up, hungry smile on his lips, holding a piece.

"Greens. Hit it," he called over the music, lining the pipe up with Roxas' mouth, lighter ready. Roxas inhaled. He was starting to see colors in the music. "Hey, you meet my brother yet?" Hayner's mouth on his, kissing, asking him questions. _I'm so fucked up_.

"Huh?' Another inhale, coughing. Hayner kissing him, hand down his pants.

"You should meet my brother, Roxas. He's in the kitchen." Hayner gave him a tiny shove toward the kitchen, and Roxas stumbled his way in, bumping into other partiers. Axel was leaned against the sink, obscured by a blonde. They were making out. _Fuck._

"Where's my water at, bitch?" Roxas mumbled, hopping on to the counter next to Axel. _What are you doing?_

Axel pulled out of the kiss. "Shit. Sorry, Rox. I—"

"Hey," the blonde said, jutting his chin up at Roxas. "Cloud. I'm Hayner's brother."

"Hi," Roxas said. It was almost like looking into a mirror. "Nice weed. Thanks, man."

"Yeah," Cloud said, turning back to Axel, tilting the redhead's chin up and going in to continue their session. Axel turned his head, eyes on Roxas' knees.

"Hey, so… we're going over to his brother's room." Cloud worked at Axel's neck while he spoke to Roxas, eyelids fluttering. "You can… if you want, I mean." Axel raised his eyes, and Roxas felt like screaming.

"Yeah. Let's go."

--

Roxas was in Hayner's computer chair, next to the turntables he wasn't supposed to touch, and Axel was getting his dick sucked, head tossed back. Should he even be watching? He shouldn't be watching. He should be staring at his hands, or his shoes, but he couldn't take his eyes away. It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen. He swallowed, mouth dry, and rubbed his sweaty palms on his thighs, right next to his erection. _Fuck_.

"It's okay, Rox," Axel said, eyes on him, breathing through an open mouth slack with desire. His green eyes drifted down to Roxas' jeans where it was clear the blonde was enjoying the show. "I don't mind." Past the tendrils of pot unraveling his brain, Roxas understood that Axel was telling him he could jack off if he wanted. He bit his bottom lip hard and wondered if he could make his hands work, a cashed bowl sitting next to him on the turntables he wasn't supposed to touch. Suddenly Cloud was in front of him, pulling him up by the arms and undoing his jeans, pulling them down until his dick slid out, bobbing slightly.

"Stroke it," Cloud said, and Roxas could only think of mirrors as he brought a hand to his erection, stroking. The older blonde pushed him back into the computer chair and returned to Axel, pressing their mouths together, jacking the redhead off slowly. "You want my cock? You want to get fucked?" Axel moaned and nodded, hands sliding over flesh. Roxas thought he might die.

_He looks like me. That could be me. Why is it not me? It could be me._ Hand pumping, he imagined thin fingers over his body, Axel's mouth against his. It wasn't hard to pretend; Cloud's blonde hair and blue eyes, it wasn't hard at all. Like a really vivid wet dream, and Roxas jacked off slowly as Cloud bent Axel over, hand pressing down on the redhead's back, Axel's face in the sheets. Axel groaned like it was the best thing he'd ever felt, like relief, like being grateful, and Roxas watched him stay hard as he got fucked, dripping pre-come that Roxas could almost taste. Axel's eyes, face and chest driven down again and again as Cloud fucked him into Hayner's mattress, never left Roxas'. When Axel came, groans escalating maddeningly, Roxas thought he would die for sure, like his body wouldn't handle it. He came instead; gasping, one hand gripping the arm of the chair.

Cloud flipped Axel over onto his back, lowered his mouth to Axel's dick and licked up the come while Roxas watched, his body shaking with effort and orgasm. Roxas could only think one thing over and over, disbelief and an endorphin rush on a repeating loop. _Oh my god. Oh my god_. Cloud glanced up from fingerfucking the redhead and looked at Roxas, Axel's slowly hardening dick slicked with spit.

"Your turn?"

The question sank into his consciousness like a bullet, and Roxas bolted.

--

He wouldn't remember the hundred and fifty miles between him and Sora, just that he showed up with nothing except his keys, his phone, and the clothes he was wearing. Sora had to go down and turn his car off since Roxas left it running, his come dried on the steering wheel.

"Tell me what happened, Roxas." Sora stroking his hair, and he was wearing a pair of Sora's boxers that he couldn't remember putting on.

"I watched," Roxas mumbled, feeling the negation of every feeling in the world. "I wanted him to love me." _He didn't. There's something wrong with me. Cloud looks just like me, just older. Smarter, maybe. Better. I'm… there's something wrong with me._ "What's wrong with me, Sora?"

"_Nothing_," Sora whispered fiercely, kissing his cheek. "There is _nothing_ wrong with you. You're perfect, and _I_ love you. Fuck everyone else." Sora kissed his cheek again, crawling into bed and pulling Roxas right up against him, their chests touching. "You feel that?" Sora whispered, staring into Roxas' eyes. "It's our heartbeat. There's only one."

"Do you feel that, then?" Roxas asked, breathing shallow. His chest felt blown open, a victim of war.

"_Yes_," Sora whispered. "You hurt, I hurt."

"_It feels like dying_," Roxas whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. "Can you feel it?" He didn't know what he was saying anymore.

"_Yes_," Sora cried, shaking. "You die, I die."

Roxas didn't know how it was possible for him to fall asleep, but he woke up wrapped around Sora, arms pressing the boy into his chest like clutching a lifesaver. There was a moment of sheer unreality where he didn't realize who he was, that he'd been away at school. Instead he and Sora were lovers, waking up on a Spring morning out in the country, everything pleasant and warm, golden sunshine streaming in. Reality was like a backhand across the face, and Roxas saw stars as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, feeling like he'd been fucked by a freight train, looking like he'd taken a beating from a bus. Sora walked up behind him, sliding his arms around the blonde's waist.

"Morning," Sora said around a yawn, resting his chin on Roxas' shoulder and staring at their reflections.

"Hi." Roxas placed his arms over Sora's, felt goosebumps rise on the other boy's skin.

"I bought you the emo cereal," Sora whispered in his ear. Roxas would have liked to laugh, would have liked to point out the sappy emo love speech Sora had spouted last night, but tears sprang to his eyes. _It's just cereal. Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Big deal. Fucking crybaby._

"Are those happy?" Sora asked, eyes on their reflection, finger lifting away a tear that ran down the blonde's cheek.

"_Yes_," Roxas whispered.

They held hands down the stairs, Sora leading him down and talking happily about how he finished his sack, and no, he wouldn't smoke anymore unless Roxas wanted to, and yes, he'd talked to Riku yesterday.

"He wants to hang out later, all three of us. Are you down?" Sora was in his lap, feeding the both of them out of the same bowl, the same spoon. The milk would trickle out of Roxas' mouth, and Sora would scoop it up with the spoon like Roxas was a toddler.

"I feel like shit, Sora."

"We don't have to do anything. I'll blow up a chair for you and you can relax in the pool." Roxas didn't know what "anything" meant. _We don't have to fuck each other? Love each other?_ He eyed the cereal wearily and Sora grinned, pouring another bowl. "What do you think, Rox? Are you down?"

They needed to talk about it, that was clear, but he couldn't think straight. Axel, hard and moaning, sat on the other side of every blink Roxas took. "I'm really fucked up right now. I'll be honest. I'm fucked up, and I'd like to have sex with you." Roxas was scared to meet Sora's eyes. _Sick fuck. Pervert._

"We can do it now, if you want." Sora, all smiles, sucking happily on the spoon. "I've been wanting to make you come for months now, Roxie."

Roxas tried hard not to shout. "How the fuck are you so calm about it, Sora? Doesn't that freak you out? That I want to fuck you? You're my best friend, and I want to fuck you. That's… it's retarded, is what it is."

"It's not," Sora said, lifting the blonde's chin with the spoon. "Do you really want to fuck me? I mean," a pause, Sora gnawing on his lip, "Do you see me that way? You want me like that?"

_Do I? Don't I?_ He saw Axel again, Cloud thrusting into him. He swallowed, motioning for more cereal. "I don't know."

Sora frowned, rubbing a thumb over the blonde's cheek. "How do you not know if you want to fuck me or not?"

"W-well," Roxas began, swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Do you want to… y'know. Do you want to fuck _me_?"

Sora studied him for a moment, thinking. "Yeah." Roxas felt his heart rate spike. "But you don't turn me on. Does that make sense? Unless I think about fucking you, then—" Sora paused, grabbing Roxas' hand and putting it to the boxers he was wearing. He was hard. "See? I love you, but I'm not _in love_ with you. I would like to have sex with you, but what I really want is to watch you come. Watch you watch me make you come." Sora grinned. "Make sense?"

The warmth under his hand twitched and Roxas felt like he was going insane. "No. It makes no fucking sense at all." His hand rubbing Sora's erection; that also made no sense. Sora's eyes closing, mouth opening and letting fly a breathy moan; that made no sense at all. "I'm not in love with you either, I don't think," Roxas tried, brow furrowed as he tried to gather his thoughts as he stroked Sora's cock. "I love you. I'll love you forever. But I still want to do this to you. Is that wrong?"

"Nn—" Sora moaned, arching, spoon clattering to the countertop. "I say it's h-healthy curiosity."

"I'm not _curious_, Sora. I want you."

"Why?" Sora, bucking into his hand.

"I want…" he began. _What do I want? I don't know._ "I want to make you come, too. I want to make you happy. I want you to love me." _I want Axel. I want everyone. I'm a fucking slut._

"I already love you. You al-already m-make me happy," Sora panted, a hand on the back of Roxas' neck.

"I'm so fucking confused, Sora. What are we doing?" He couldn't stop. His hand wouldn't stop, and he was hard in his pair of Sora's boxers.

"We're getting off," Sora said, getting to his feet and pulling Roxas' boxers down. Roxas spread his legs and watched his cock disappear into his best friend's mouth. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. _What was Axel thinking while that guy went down on him? Was he imagining it was me?_

"No," Roxas said.

Sora pulled off, lips wet. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Can you slide your hips forward a little bit?" Roxas inched forward, raising a leg and putting it on a chair. "Perfect," Sora said, tongue darting out, licking his ass. Roxas almost jumped a mile. "You like that?" Sora smiled, working the area more thoroughly. Riku had definitely never put his mouth there. His dick, yes, his mouth, no. Roxas squirmed against Sora's mouth.

"It… tickles," Roxas said, giggling.

"You like it," Sora said, sticking a finger in his mouth. "This," he said, wiggling the finger, "is going in." Sora's mouth lowered to his cock again, and the spit slicked finger prodded at him, teasing. Sora knew exactly what he was doing, finger twisting and turning its way in until it reached a place that made Roxas feel like disintegrating.

"_Fuck_."

"Mm, you like it," Sora said, mouth full of cock. Sora rubbed the spot, tiny circles it felt like, and Roxas' whole body shook. "Now?" Sora asked, and the vibrations against his dick sent Roxas over the edge. Sora felt the blonde freeze up and he pulled off, replacing his mouth with a hand. Sora watched with no small amout of wonder as he fingered Roxas and stroked the orgasm out of him, come cascading down his hand in a thick pearlescent spill. When Roxas was finished, Sora took him in his mouth again, bobbing until the blonde was limp.

Roxas panted in his chair, arms and legs completely useless. "Th-that… that was…"

"You liked it!" Sora said, ecstatic. "I was worried you wouldn't. I was like 95% sure that I could make you come, but then I wondered if you'd be too freaked out because… well, because it's _me_, even though I give really good head. Like _really_ good. I'm better than Riku, right?"

Roxas watched Sora talk in disbelief. "Y-yeah. I… uh," he babbled.

"You are so cute when you orgasm, Rox. You have no idea how cute."

It was like being hit in the face with a frying pan. He couldn't think straight. "I love you."

"I LOVE YOU!" Sora shouted, squeezing him into a hug. Roxas vaguely registered that they were both completely naked, Sora still hard, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of them. "So," Sora said, straddling his lap. "Still want to fuck me?" Roxas opened his mouth to respond, but he realized the desire was gone. It was just Sora. Yes, Sora naked and erect and utterly fuckable, but he didn't feel that gut-twisting desire. "I bet the answer is, 'Noooo,'" Sora sang, bouncing in his lap.

"A-are you insulted?"

"Idiot!" Sora said, tugging on his hair. "No, I'm not _insulted_. Damn, are you twelve? You were just horny, Roxie." Sora wiggled his fingers in Roxas' face, one hand still sticky with come. "The male mind is a dark place, Rox. It knows no bounds. One time Riku told me he thought about having sex with his _dad_, man. And our first inclination is to be like, 'Fucking gross, man!' But… it's just being horny. I get horny over toast."

"Stop," Roxas said. "Don't say that word."

"What? Horny?"

"YES! Don't say it; it drives me crazy."

"Horrrrrrnnyyyyy," Sora sang, dodging a swat Roxas aimed at him. "So, yeah. We get 'turned on,' if you like that better, by anything." Sora giggled, "_Everything_… or, maybe not _every_ everything. Weird things, though. The important thing is not to act on the ones that are socially unacceptable. That's what separates like pedophiles from… I dunno, horny teenage girls."

"…You've been seeing your therapist a lot haven't you?"

"Twice a week for the last two months," Sora laughed. Like bells. Like sunshine.

"So… does this mean I can take care of that for you?" Roxas asked, eyeing Sora's erection.

"My therapist—you remember Dr. Ben, right?—would say that I'm engaging in reckless behavior operating under the semblance of reality. Because I guess a world where you want to suck my dick is a world that can't be this one."

Roxas eyed Sora thoughtfully, smiling, then got to his knees. "Yeah? Well I like our make-believe world. Your make-believe cock and my make-believe mouth look like they're going to get along just fine."

When Sora came in his mouth, Roxas felt completely sane. Completely sane in his non-world with Sora, their non-world where it was okay for him to suck his best friend off and feel completely sane about it. His hands didn't shake at all in his non-world. In their non-world they finished the cereal and moved on to making banana pancakes, dousing each other in handfuls of batter. After eating their fill, sticky with come and batter, they showered together, Sora insisting on scrubbing Roxas' hair. Later, when Riku came over, they talked it all out. It was just sex, and while Sora and Roxas loved each other, this was about lust, about getting off. Sora and Riku, though, that was about love. They went upstairs and had make up sex while Roxas floated around the pool on the chair Sora said he'd inflate for him. He was only peripherally turned on, one hand stroking his abdomen absently.

_He probably called me. He should have. If he didn't, then he doesn't really like me._ Roxas would've liked a tequila shot or a nicely packed bowl or at least a pair of sunglasses, feeling the heat of the sun sink into his closed lids, everything a searing red, the color of the inside of flesh. _The color of his hair_. Just friends, weren't they? _Friends with Sora, too._ Roxas splashed at the water. They'd gone over this. He was just complicating it in his head again, tangling the lines of everybody. It didn't have to be complicated. It could be the easiest thing in the world. _Just be friends with him. He's too fucked up for you to handle, anyway. And you for him. Just let it go._

Everything is easier in theory, running plans over in your mind. Everything sounds better, easier, when you think about it in your head, mulling over how you'll react when he does that, what you'll say when he says this. Roxas thought he had it covered, that he could be friends with Axel, that he could cut off the part that danced with him like the prelude to fucking, the part that said he loved him. Cut it off, toss it out. He couldn't do it, couldn't he? _Did it with Riku. I could do it again._

It was a cruel joke, probably—some final slap in the face by Fate—that it was right after this thought Riku emerged from the house completely naked, torso glistening with what was probably Sora's come. Roxas' mouth went dry. Riku winked at Roxas and dove into the pool, the thrash of his entrance knocking Roxas off his floating chair. Riku swam over to him, hauling him above the water, and Roxas felt like he was getting his ass kicked all the way back to square one.

"You okay?" Riku had an excellent smile.

"FUCK!" Roxas shouted, splashing erratically in the water. Riku's face was drawn up in surprise, droplets clinging to his face and hair. Roxas wanted to kiss him.

"Water up your nose?" Riku asked, tweaking Roxas' nose.

Roxas snapped playfully at the other boy's hand with his teeth, pulling a face. "Come in your mouth?"

"More like _your_ mouth, you little slut."

"I'm gunna tell him you called me a slut. He'll beat you with that pitcher of—BEER!" Roxas exclaimed, hauling himself up the side of the pool, floundering like a beached whale.

"Where?!" Sora asked comically, looking around.

"What a burn, dude. I was all excited." Roxas brought the pitcher to his mouth, hesitating before taking a sip. "Is this iced tea? Because that is gross."

"If by 'gross' you mean 'fucking awesome," Sora said, plucking the pitcher out of Roxas' hand, setting it aside… and plowing the blonde into the pool. Underwater, bubbles of air streaming out of Sora's nose, Roxas found that the world made more sense. Above water everything was too loud, too bright and forceful, demanding explanations and answers. Underwater was an inversion, a submersion; everything upside down. Everything floating; vaguely dream-like, and silence distorting the sounds of things. His entire life, screaming for air with burning lungs. His entire life, turning somersaults underwater.


	11. Chapter 11: Spirals

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: New fanart links up on the profile, one of Axel and Roxas by **ironyofalostkeyword **that is, gorgeous and, conceptually, a metaphor for this entire story, and something cute and clever by **darlingace**. Apologies for the 23948203948 year break; busy with real life and all that.

Haven't you heard? Shit always gets a lot worse before it starts to get better. _If_ it gets better. OH, Y SO OMINOUS? That's just how it goes, kids. Also, I just woke up to something in my inbox that says Casey V.'s final chapter of _Boys_ has been posted. If you are not hip to that masterpiece, you have no idea what you're missing. Go. Read. Love.

--

**Chapter 11: Spirals**

Death by toilet—that's how his first cellphone died. At some cozy restaurant with his mother and her latest conquest, sipping moodily at a cup of french onion soup until he couldn't stand it anymore, excusing himself to sit in the men's room and clutch his hands into fists. There was nothing in there, he'd explained, each re-telling of the story drawing disgusted groans. He hadn't needed to take a leak; he'd needed to get his breathing under control. Hyperaware of the shoes visible in the three feet of space under the bathroom stalls, he flushed the toilet to keep up with appearances. As soon as he leaned forward to press the handle, his phone slid with graceful finality down into the flushing swirl of water. There was a painful moment of watching the water spin where he thought his phone might actually end up flushed down the toilet, gone the way of dead pet fish and his tiny _Lord of the Rings_ collectible figurines his mother had flushed after stabbing herself in the foot with them. _Shit_, he'd thought. _Shit_.

Now, laying on Sora's floor, staring at his phone while Riku and Sora slept on the bed next to him, he thought the same thing. _Shit_. Thirty-eight missed calls, _thirty-eight_, and all of them from Axel. Flushing his phone, he figured, was probably a pretty good idea. The single text Axel sent, the one word, "Please," hadn't helped the situation. _At least he cares_, Roxas thought, finger scrolling down the list of missed calls. It was like talking at a wall, though. His body wouldn't react to optimism. On some level he knew that these missed calls meant Axel cared about him. This meant that Axel felt bad, that he cared, that he had a fucking soul, but Roxas still felt like his chest had broken open, pickaxe sinking into his ribs and pulling them up one by one. It wasn't even proper hurt in the way you break a leg or fracture an arm. The hurt was an absence, sitting heavy in his gaping chest, keeping him pressed to the floor at the side of Sora's bed.

Roxas' eyes flicked up to the bed, blankets bunched down around the sleeping huddle's mass of legs. The expanse of Riku's back, dipping down to the curve of his ass, was just visible from where Roxas laid, one arm pillowing his head, the other resting on his chest while his hand flexed around his phone. _This is stupid_, he thought, eyes flicking down to his erection. _It's just skin. Just Riku_. He was just complicating his life. Not calling Axel back, lusting over a swatch of flesh—complications. There should be a switch, he figured. Like a light switch, something that you flick to turn off lust, that you flick to turn off stubbornness. He should be able to snap his fingers and wake up, slide effortlessly from teenage bullshit to college sophistication. But there are no switches. There are no magical fixes.

So he slid a hand into his borrowed pair of boxers, focused on the curve of Riku's ass and the way Sora's hand draped possessively over it, and jacked off.

--

"One more day." Their noses pressed together, Sora's breath tasting like Otter Pops, his lips a shade of red that made him look all of twelve. Riku had gone inside, unable to watch their "E.T. bullshit, man, I swear." Sora's hands were nestled in his back pockets, and he resisted the tug in his stomach that insisted he lick the lines of Sora's mouth.

"My first class is at eight in the morning, Sora."

Sora wrinkled his nose, pressing the tip of it more insistently into Roxas'. "So?"

"So I'd rather just be there than be here." His tongue darted over his own lips, traces of sugar, and Sora's eyes watched the movement. "You don't think I want to stay? I want to stay."

"Fine, fine," Sora exhaled, turning his head and resting it on Roxas' shoulder. "Go. Grow your brain. Maybe one day you'll come back and be able to fix mine."

Roxas frowned, hands sliding up Sora's back to hold him in a proper hug, pushing on the brunette's shoulder blades until he could feel a heartbeat against his chest. "You're not broken."

Sora pressed a kiss to the spot below Roxas' ear, whispering. "_Okay_."

He was unlocking the door of his car when Riku came up behind him, sliding arms around his waist. "Where's my goodbye?" Roxas didn't need to see Riku's face to envision the smirk, tugging up the right side of his mouth.

"Bye."

"Ohhh, so that's how it is?" Riku laughed, lifting Roxas at the waist until his feet were off the floor. He was infuriating, really. Arrogant, annoying. "Well, I'll miss you," Riku said into his ear, lips brushing against him in a way that tickled. He raised his shoulder to ward the other boy off, and Riku laughed, swaying with Roxas in his arms. Infuriating. Gorgeous.

"Don't let him eat too many of the grape ones. It makes him sick."

"Yeah, Rox, I know."

"Well, whatever. I was just saying."

"Are we okay?" Riku set him down, hands still at his waist. "You're being a little weird."

"I-I'm," he stuttered, hands moving up to settle over Riku's as he leaned back into the other boy. "I'm just…," he trailed off. _I don't know. I'm confused. I'm hurt. I like you. Sora's watching us right now._

"It's okay," Riku said, squeezing him quickly before letting go. He turned Roxas around and pressed a finger to his nose. "Be good." Riku trailed the finger across Roxas' face from cheek to cheek, sliding across the part of his lips, in the shape of a smile. A simple upturned line. "Be _good_, okay? For him."

He was faltering. Falling. "Okay," Roxas lied.

The drive back to school was usually uneventful, and over the years Roxas had learned to drive the long stretches of beachscape with his knees, hands fiddling with the stereo or checking his phone. This drive back was different, both of his hands locked on the steering wheel, tearing pieces of it away with his nails as he drove. _It would be easy_, he thought. It would be so easy to drift, one slow slide of the wheel toward the left, and he'd be sailing over the edge of the cliff, into the water. It wouldn't even be very violent, maybe. Maybe it would be beautiful; an arc, airborne, dropping away into the sea. Drowning, though, seemed pretty hard. _I'd have to breathe it in. That would suck. It would be too hard to try not to escape._ Eyes darting back to the road, he studied the white minivan two lanes over. Kids in the backseat, maybe. It would be a terrible accident, a tragedy. _So easy_. Because our bodies are soft, our bones are breakable. We are so mortal, so prone.

It didn't occur to Roxas that he shouldn't be thinking like this.

--

The best way to do it would be quickly and with as little thought as possible. Walking back to the dorms from the student parking lot, thumb hovering over the call button, he thought of ripping off band-aids. It might not be painless, but it would be quick, and he'd just end up talking to Axel eventually anyway. There was no point in being mad or disgusted or non-hurt forever, so he's just skip that part. And he missed Axel's voice. There was that, too. Axel picked up on the third ring, a millisecond after Roxas took a hit off a stale Parliament, but there was only silence on the line. Roxas heard him breathing.

"Axel?" Maybe the toilet had been a good idea after all.

"…I didn't think I'd ever hear from you again." Axel's voice sounded flat. There were whispers in the background.

"I'm," he started, unsure how to finished. _I'm not sorry. I didn't do anything wrong._ "I'm walking back to the dorms."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." _Fine fine fine fine fine. I'm fine. I'm fucking fine._

"I can't really talk now, I'm-," a chuckle, more whispers. "We'll hang later, alright?"

"Yeah."

The phone clicked off on the beginning of Axel speaking to someone, and Roxas suddenly felt like the only person in the entire world. He stopped walking, smoking the Parliament in the middle of the sidewalk, other kids shouldering by him. The desire to turn around, to drive back home, was so intense that he was sure he wouldn't be able to stop himself, that he'd drive home and fuck his whole life up. Because that's what you have: college, friends, a future on a path you can see yourself walking down. Things were set out in front of him, within reach, and here he was determined to tear it all down. The urge passed, and he lifted weary feet one after the other until he reached his dorm. He needed to sleep. He needed a pill. He didn't notice Zexion staring down at him until the other boy tossed a pillow at him.

"Oh. Hey, man."

"You look fucking cracked out, roomie."

"I didn't sleep well," Roxas managed, sweeping a hand to the back of his desk drawer, feeling out for a prescription bottle.

"Yeah, well, I'd have trouble sleeping if _my_ boyfriend was—"

"What?" Roxas asked, a little louder than intended, eyes narrowed.

Zexion raised his hands up, "Hey, we're cool, man. Your pills are under your pillow, not in your desk."

"I'm not looking for _those_ pills," Roxas snapped, kicking Zexion's pillow away. "_Those_ pills are bullshit, anyway. I'll probably stop taking them. Like I fucking need them." He could feel his heart in his veins, present everywhere, his body pulsing.

"Whoa," Zexion said, hopping off the top bunk. "You need to relax."

"I _am_ relaxed," Roxas said, hand crashing into the little orange bottle in his desk, sending the container flying across the room. With as much dignity as he could muster, he bent down in front of Zexion and picked up the bottle. Zexion watched as he opened the container, dumping its contents into the palm of his hand.

"Shit." Gone. He'd taken all the Lorazepam last quarter. "_Shit_." There was half a Xanax, a few Seroquel, and two of what looked like Lorcet.

"If you want to get fucked up, we can pay a visit to Little V. I'm sure they have something less ominous than a handful of pills."

"A handful? This is hardly worth a fucking _nap_!"

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Roxas?" Zexion asked, grabbing him by the shoulders.

The physical contact seemed to sink in, and Roxas shrugged. "Nothing." _Nothing more than usual. Nothing's changed._

"Well cheer up, man. New quarter, new start. We can put douchebags behind us."

"This is not about Axel."

"Sure, Roxas. And this book I'm reading," Zexion lifted up a paperback, the title in French, "This book isn't written by Honoré de Balzac."

Roxas squinted at the cover. "Yes, it is."

"Exactly."

"You should not be fucking with me right now."

"Just cheer up, Roxas. Or, have a couple bottles of Hefeweizen, and then cheer up."

"Is that your answer to everything? Get trashed?"

"Yes," Zexion said simply, waving a hand.

Roxas watched at the other boy slid on his shoes. "It's just running from problems."

"No," Zexion exclaimed, eyes bright. "It's running from nothing. It's looking the problem in the face, sizing it up, and understanding that it's _bullshit_. Nothing to be worried about. Trivialities. I don't smoke because I'm scared. I smoke because it doesn't matter."

Roxas shook his head. "Stoner logic."

"Better than pissed off little bitch logic."

"That's not clever."

Zexion held the door open for Roxas to step through. "You're killing my game with that sweet little face of yours."

--

Within ten seconds of walking in the front door of Little Vista, Roxas knew that coming there had been a huge mistake. Axel was on the couch, straddling Cloud's lap, his back to the front door. Roxas would've turned around and walked out had Zexion not been directly behind him, blocking the only exit that would ensure Axel didn't see him.

"Small world, huh?" Zexion said, following Roxas' line of sight. A cloud of pot was thick in the air. Axel turned, eyes locking with Roxas'.

"Hey," Roxas said, taking a seat on the couch. Axel made no move to un-straddle Cloud's lap. A re-run of Lost was on the T.V., Hayner talking over it to a small group of what looked like first year Art Studio boys, rolling a series of joints. Zexion reappeared beside him, handing over a bottle of Hefeweizen.

"Just forget him, man," Zexion said, toasting his bottle against Roxas'. The beer tasted like nothing in Roxas' mouth. Hayner was babbling, high as a kite, about Steven Spielberg and how he was over for dinner all the time, how they were "like this, man, I'm serious." And Axel and Cloud. And Axel and Cloud. Kissing, laughing. Being _cute_.

_He said he couldn't talk. He said he was busy. He was here, sucking face with my clone._ He was on his third bottle of Hefeweizen before Zexion passed him a joint. Roxas waved it away, frowning at the bottle of beer in Cloud's hand and the bottle of nothing in Axel's. Axel was sober. _I was bad in my past life. This is my punishment. Watching him like this is my punishment for being an asshole in my past life. Lives._ Cloud's hand slipped up the back of Axel's shirt. _I must have been a real fucking asshole._

The room was spinning when Cloud got up, and Roxas saw him kiss Axel again, a quick wave to Hayner and a nod to Roxas and Zexion before walking out the front door. Roxas found himself staring at Axel. He wanted him so _so_ much.

"What are you doing?" Axel suddenly closer than he looked, taking the bottle of beer out Roxas' hand.

"_I'm drunk_," Roxas whispered. He wanted to bury his face in Axel's chest. He wanted those hands in his hair. He wanted, wanted, wanted.

"You wanna watch out for him?" Axel asked Zexion, voice hard.

"He's a big boy, he can handle it," Zexion said, shrugging, eyes not leaving the episode of Lost.

"You brought him here. He's obviously fucked up right now."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't know anything about that, right?"

Axel rose quickly, and Roxas felt Zexion go rigid beside him. "You better be really fucking sure you know what you're talking about," Axel snarled.

"Hey, don't mind me, man," Zexion said, voice bitter. "I'm just the roommate."

_Stop them._ "Stop," Roxas said, his voice coming out in a pathetic little whine.

Axel crouched at his side. "I'm sorry. Listen, you want to get out of here? Let's go see a movie or something."

Roxas felt like crying. "N-no, I'm tired. I'm… I'm gunna go to sleep."

"It's six o'clock, Rox."

"I'm really tired," Roxas slurred, hand on Axel's neck of its own volition. _How did that happen_?

"Are we okay?" Axel's eyes on his, his face in Axel's hands.

"Hmm?" Everyone was asking him this lately. What was wrong with him?

"You and me. We good?"

"Yeah," Roxas lied.

He didn't know how he walked back to the dorm alone, deciding to take the long way along the beach, tripping down the beach access stairs and then across the sand, stumbling like a homeless drunk over the darkening shore. He'd been a sophomore, he remembered. The middle of finals week, the sky overcast, and he'd come down to the beach to get his shit together, to get his breathing right. A homeless man, drunk, walked up to him, asking if he had a girlfriend.

"Nah," he remembered saying. He was embarrassed, on the phone with Sora.

The homeless drunk, hair in a dirty tangle, looked horribly taken aback. "Well, why not? You're beautiful."

But the drunk had been wrong. There was something terribly terribly disgusting about Roxas. He didn't know what it was, maybe in the lines of his face, the way his voice sounded, but he was disgusting. He was stupid, horrible, a terrible friend, a shameful son. He was perverted, sick, deranged. He needed a pill to stay sane, every day, tucked under his pillow, twenty milligrams just to stay sane.

"I hate myself," he said to the stars in the sky. "I hate myself."

--

If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought someone died. In the night, someone had died, someone he loved. That was the only reason he should feel the way he did as he woke up, chest weighted down at the bottom of the ocean. It wasn't that it hurt; it wasn't there at all. His chest felt empty; the feeling you get the morning after something has been lost forever. It's a feeling Roxas knew well, a feeling he courted for years. But he never remembers this part.

Romantic Poets sounded like the single least interesting subject he could be studying at ten in the morning on a Monday, but Roxas dragged himself across campus anyway, forgoing a lonely brunch in favor of an enormous cup of Diet Coke (ordered as "one medium large Diet Coke, please?" before he realized this made no sense at all) from the on-campus Subway. His stomach burbled at him as he stepped into the classroom. The class, a 46-person seminar, suddenly seemed stifling as Roxas caught a burst of red hair in the front row. Axel, leg bouncing against the floor, looked up as Roxas approached, an easy smile spreading across his face. Everything inside of Roxas screamed.

"Morning, sunshine," Axel beamed up at him.

"Go fuck yourself."

"Alright!" Axel cheered, sitting up excitedly. "That is a go-getter attitude I can get behind. Is that de-caf? Because if it's not, I think you should switch."

"It's Diet Coke," Roxas muttered, sliding into the seat next to the redhead. Axel had already dated and set a heading for his blank page of soon-to-be notes. This would be torture. Roxas stuck his straw in his mouth, deciding a steady stream of soda would both stop him from being rude and dissuade Axel from making small talk. They couldn't be friends. They just couldn't. _So why did you sit next to him, idiot?_ Roxas slid a notebook out of his backpack, flipping to a random blank page. Frowning, he scrawled on the date, checking his cellphone for accuracy. It seemed like Axel was waiting for him to finish drinking. When he didn't, the older boy chuckled, leaned over, and drew a tiny heart in the corner of Roxas' paper. Roxas stared at it, a black hole of attention, until it didn't feel like he could see anything else. Why was Axel doing this? Roxas glanced at the other boy from the corner of his eyes. Yes, fucking around with his phone, probably texting a certain blonde asshole who couldn't keep it in his pants. _Look at that smile on his face; he's totally texting Cloud. What the fuck kind of name is 'Cloud?'_ Biting down hard on his straw, Roxas reached over and drew a tiny heart on Axel's notebook. He raised his eyes to Axel's, watched the older boy follow the movement of his pen, a hungry little glint in his eyes. _That doesn't make any sense._ There should be no hunger, no little hearts anywhere.

"You're a dick," Roxas said, one side of his mouth still clamped down on his straw.

"You're really perceptive, Roxas. I think that's why I like you so much." Axel's thumb slid around his phone for a couple more minutes before he turned to Roxas, shoving the phone in his pocket. "I shouldn't have put you in that position; it wasn't right. It was selfish of me."

"We don't have to talk about it," Roxas said, voice rough. His blood ran sluggish in his veins.

"I just wish," Axel said, "I wish you didn't run off like that."

"He was asking to fuck me."

"You wouldn't have done it. You should've stayed so I could watch out for you. It was kind of—kind of an intense moment. I thought you…"

"What?" Roxas tapped his pen against his notebook in time with the flutter of his heart.

"I dunno," Axel said, shaking his head. "I thought everything was fine."

"It was."

"It _wasn't_."

"So apologize."

Axel took Roxas' hand into his, gripped it tightly, and looked into the blonde's eyes. "I am so fucking sorry, Roxas. I am so fucking sorry."

Roxas wanted to shrug it off, wanted to toss out a simple and uncomplicated, "Whatever," but he couldn't speak. There was something in his throat that made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe.

It was at this exact moment that the professor walked in. "Welcome to English 105B: The Romantic Poets. Yes, we're reading everything on the syllabus." The professor, a long-haired blonde that Roxas registered as vaguely pirate-y and debonair, insisted on being called "Mac" as opposed to "that Professor Oliver bulllshit." He would've been charmed, would've probably glanced over to Axel to get the redhead's approval rating if he'd been able to breathe right. He scribbled nonsense for notes and tried to focus on the words the professor said, working out vowels and consonants. Outwardly it looked like Roxas was paying attention, but inwardly he was replaying the apology over and over again. _What was he apologizing for?_ It was more than just being witness to debauchery. Axel was sorry for more than that. _Why does he think he has to apologize to me? Who am I to him? Just some kid. What does he care? WHY does he care?_

He drifted through the class and, later, the walk toward the dining commons, in a silent daze. Axel was either embarrassed, or angry, or unconcerned, saying nothing at all aside from asking why Roxas was taking this course ("The Romantics were all depressives") until they sat at a table with their trays of food in front of them.

"You like grapefruit?" Axel asked, pointing with a slice of pizza at the half of a grapefruit sitting in a bowl on Roxas' tray.

"After you eat them, they look like dead angels."

Axel choked on his water. "I'm sorry, dead _what?_"

"Angels. You know, really hot, with big wings?"

"Yeah, smartass, I know what angels are. You're telling me that half an eaten grapefruit looks like a dead angel?"

"…Yeah," Roxas said, frowning. Sora had been the first to notice.

Axel laughed brightly, "See what I mean? Perceptive and shit." Axel's phone went off and his hand jerked toward it quickly, eyes lighting up. _Oh god_. "'Lo?" The redhead couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Hey." His voice dropped, curling at the ends. Roxas tried to look away, but couldn't. Axel's laughter sounded harder, fake almost, his hands fidgeting, leg shaking under the table. The smile on Axel's face was a little strange, like he and his smile and the person on the other end of the phone were in a different world entirely, like Roxas had ceased to exist. "Yeah, I'll be there in a couple. Yeah, whatever." Axel flipped the phone closed, staring at it for a few moments before rejoining the real world, Roxas staring at him. "Sorry about that. I uh—I gotta run. You cool?"

"Yeah," Roxas lied.

"I'm coming over later so we can do that explication thing together, okay?"

"Uhhuh," Roxas said, focusing on the grapefruit. After Axel walked away, ruffling Roxas' hair on his way past, Roxas poured four packets of sugar over the glistening pink fruit. _Flesh_, he thought. _Dead angels._ Roxas systematically worked his way through the fruit, cutting around segments with a knife before scooping out the dead angel flesh into his mouth, the sugar crunching in a way he thought angel flesh might, since they were supposed to be strong and all. When he finished, Roxas stared at the remains, at what was left, and he cried.

It wasn't showy crying, where people want to be seen, want to be consoled; it was quiet, sorrowful. Demyx ambled up with a tray full of food, took a seat across from the blonde, and sat for two full minutes without realizing Roxas was crying.

"Jesus," Demyx said, leaning across the table. "What's wrong, Roxas?"

"Nothing," Roxas said, the dead angel cradled in his hands, catching his tears.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm not." Roxas wiped at his face, eyes stinging from traces of grapefruit juice, and held the rind out to Demyx. "What do you see?"

"Roxas?"

"What do you see, man?" Roxas pushed, twisting the rind in front of Demyx's face.

Demyx bit his lip, glancing around quickly. "I see an empty grapefruit." Demyx, eyebrows lowered in concern, stared into Roxas' eyes. "Is that the right answer?"

Roxas felt like hurling the grapefruit rind across the room. "There are no right answers.

"Rox, what—"

"Answers. There aren't any. Not even wrong ones," Roxas babbled, setting the dead angel back into place on his tray.

"_What_ in the fuck are you talking about? Did you have an exam first day or something? Taking Philosophy?"

Roxas shook his head, burying his face in his hands. Everything smelled like citrus. "I'm just a fucking nutcase, man. Don't worry about it."

Demyx, frowning at his bowl of pasta salad, stabbed at a curl of orange and green noodles. "Okay. But could you smile or something? You look like a funeral."

"I am smiling." His fingers prodded at his cheeks, feeling out the upward turn of his lips.

Demyx, surveying him over a glass of chocolate milk, shook his head. "Nah. You're just turning your mouth up. That's not a smile, Roxas."

"Yeah? Where're my happy pills at?"

Demyx, fucking Demyx who Roxas was pretty sure got bummed out over nothing, smiled and tapped his temple. "You gotta let it happen, man."

Roxas groaned, felt like he was melting à la Wicked Witch of the West. North, East, South, West. One of them. "Your optimism pains me in my black soul."

"Are you on crack, dude?"

"Crack is whack," Roxas responded automatically. Demyx chewed funnily, like he alternated sides, each bite chewed approximately 30 times. "You count your chewing, don't you."

Demyx gaped at him. "You really are on crack, aren't you? Roxas, it's the _first day_ back, and you're already balls out fucking crazy."

"Balls are right here," Roaxs said, tapping his crotch. "I'm balls _in_ crazy. Today, at least. Tomorrow I could be painting myself blue, stumbling around on _crack_."

Demyx shook his hand. "Just repeat after me, Rox. Summer is in ten weeks. Got that? Summer is in _ten weeks_. It'll be a blast, and this will all blow over. Your crack habit will be a thing of the past."

_Summer is in ten weeks. In ten weeks I won't see Axel anymore. In ten weeks he will probably run off to Switzerland with my clone. In ten weeks I will be with Sora and Riku everyday for three months. Ten weeks. Ten weeks._

Roxas went back to the dorm and popped his two Lorcets, crawled into bed, and prayed for winter.

--

Roxas had been sitting in bed jacking off when Axel showed up looking and smelling like sex—clothes disorderly, hair rumpled. Roxas answered the door hard, and the tired, soft droop that clung to all of Axel's limbs made it nearly impossible for him to control himself, flicking the lights on and hauling out his anthology of Romantic poetry before Axel had time to pretend like nothing had happened, that he hadn't just been fucked to orgasm. They were half way through the poem, Roxas keeping his eyes on the text, unwilling to fall victim to any of the retarded, _amazing_ things Axel was doing to divert his attention, the least of which was the expert looking fellatio he performed on his pen.

"So," Roxas droned, "when Wordsworth says 'the still, sad music of humanity,' I think he's talking about how the human race is pathetic, and it makes him feel sorry for the brainless masses."

"Maybe," Axel said, "Or maybe you missed the part where he's not talking about humanity. See? Line 89. He's talking about nature. He looks at nature and hears the music of humanity." Axel's voice was reverent. Roxas didn't want to look, but he could feel Axel's eyes on him.

"That's stupid. Wordsworth was on crack."

"You don't agree? You've never looked at something and been reminded of something else? Something beautiful?"

Roxas looked up then, meeting Axel's eyes. "Beautiful things hurt. Beautiful things don't give a fuck about anything. They don't care who falls in love with them, they don't care who loves them more. Beautiful things are helpless; they do nothing except be adored. I don't hear the stupid bullshit music of humanity when I look at beauty. I hear _nothing_. I hear what's going to be left when beauty fades or finds the next sucker. _Nothing_."

"You don't really believe that," Axel said, leaning forward. Roxas couldn't look away.

"Don't tell me what I believe in."

"You don't," Axel said, peering into Roxas' face now, eyes shooting little lasers of concentration into Roxas' skin. "You're just angry."

"Yeah, and you're just full of shit," Roxas said, eyes rolling. "I'm not you. I don't share your ideas about things. It's not like there's one right answer here, or any answer at all. It's just—"

"When I look at you, I—"

"STOP!" Roxas shouted, shoving a shaking hand over Axel's mouth. "I don't want to fucking hear it, Axel."

Axel, wounded, pulled the blonde's hand away. "What? You're my best friend. I hear—"

"_Don't_," Roxas whispered, dropping his head to his knees. _It hurts. I can't hear it. I can't stand it._

"Come here," Axel said. When Roxas didn't respond, Axel walked over, shoved Roxas off his chair, then grabbed at the blonde and sat him in his lap, holding him tightly around the waist, breath tickling the hair at the back of Roxas' neck. "You deserve to hear this, for fuck's sake, so listen. I hear sleigh bells. You know, like Christmas." A press of lips to the nape of his neck. "I look at you and hear bells. You're like a little fucking miracle, okay? I don't know why I keep fucking this up. You make me believe in the existence of things I swore I'd never believe in."

Roxas was pretty sure he'd never felt more miserable in his entire life. "You're full of shit."

"You think?" Axel asked, nuzzling his neck. It felt nicer than he'd ever admit, the scratch of stubble, the warmth of breath. He'd like nothing more than to sit there forever, leaned up against Axel, arms helpless at his sides. "Why are you so sad, Roxas?" The question was almost lost against his neck, mumbled quietly.

"Huh?" Because it's always easier to look away, to play dumb.

"You're… sad," Axel said, the words clear this time.

"It's nothing," Roxas said, tilting his head back until it connected with Axel's chest. "It's always nothing." For as long as he could remember, nothing. Nothing swirled up with a spoon, fed to him until he begged, open-mouthed, for more. Nothing, tied with ribbons to the ends of his arms, to weak wrists. He had a good life; good friends, good mom. It was all good, good and nothing sitting next to each other in his head, playing a game of chess, weighing feathers. Nothing, always nothing.

"Is that it? I thought it was something else," Axel said, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Roxas' hair. There was a chance Axel hadn't heard the subtext, that he's misunderstood what Roxas was trying to say, but he didn't think so. Anyone else would've missed it, but not Axel.

"You never asked," Roxas said, sliding a hand around the arm at his waist, feeling the hair on Axel's arm stand up like grass.

"You take anything for all that nothing?"

"Lexapro," Roxas said, pointing at the bottle just visible under his pillow. "Going on two years now. Seven hundred and thirty days. Never missed a dose."

"That's a lot of pills."

"Not that many." Not compared to Sora, who took a colorful little cocktail everyday. Hundreds of pastel pills backed up in their bodies, stockpiles of chemicals that were supposed to fix their brains.

"I didn't—" Axel began, his voice bitter. "I don't know why I never saw it. It's like I knew, but I was looking for something else. You're too—" a inhalation against his hair, "too perfect for this shit. You shouldn't ever have to feel depressed."

Roxas shrugged. "It happens. Some days are easier than others. Today is a bad day."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I'm going to run around naked and say 'crack' a lot."

Axel laughed mirthlessly, shrugging. "Better than self-medicating, man. I quit meds back in high school. Effexor and Abilify for a fucking eternity, and then a steady supply of the holy trinity: pot, meth, pills." Axel shook behind Roxas, more empty laughter. "And look at me now. Paper skin, paper veins. I wasn't even a real depressive. I just had a rough time and started acting out. I couldn't deal."

"Neither could I," Roxas said, remembering ditching class to take a bus to the local library, sifting through books to find the proper way to tie a noose. He remembered learning a bunch of knots, regretting that he wouldn't be around long enough to ever show anyone, to ever put them to use.

"It's not right," Axel said. "We shouldn't have to deal with this bullshit. Life's hard enough as it is. We don't need our shit luck making it worse." Axel's fingers twirled in his hair, tugging lightly. "I tried to eat poison, man. I was just a kid, like twelve or something. I took a branch of white oleander and started chewing on it. My mother beat me on the way to the emergency room. Drank a thing of charcoal, and all I had to show for it was a bunch of scratches on my face from her fucking claws."

"You ate poison?" Roxas felt oddly terrified. _I would've never met him._

"Yeah, the first time. I did a bunch of stupid shit later. How much more of a girl could I get, though, you know? I ate a fucking flower."

"I hung myself," Roxas said, wincing a little at the way it dropped out of his mouth like a stone, a dull thud into existence.

Axel stilled beneath him, and Roxas heard him swallow. "Shit."

"I ate pills later. Did dangerous things, tried to drown myself in a pool. The hanging, though. I meant that one."

"_Shit_, Rox," Axel said, tugging the blonde close. _Maybe_, Roxas thought, _maybe he's glad, too. He's glad I didn't die so he could meet me._ He felt thick, dizzy and stupid in the redhead's arms. He heard Axel's stomach rumble. _That's right. He left without eating._

"You're hungry?" Roxas asked, arms resting on the ones encircling him.

"Not for food," Axel muttered, voice low.

_Now or never. Just ask_. "What he like?"

Axel shifted beneath him. "He's… having sex with him is really satisfying."

"Oh." Roxas felt very small, a tiny blot of dust sitting in Axel's lap.

"It hurts to look at him sometimes," Axel said quietly. Roxas wanted to look at his face, to see what else was there besides just the words.

"He makes you happy." A loop of Axel texting Cloud, of Axel talking to Cloud on the phone, of Axel straddling Cloud's lap played through Roxas' head. It was the truth, wasn't it? Cloud made Axel happy.

"You make me happy."

There it was again, his heart beating away in his ears. "In your pants, maybe," he said, voice shooting for blithe, scoffing.

"In my heart, you little brat," Axel snarled, jerking Roxas' shoulder around until they were face to face, close enough for Roxas to close his eyes, part his lips, and lean in. _Do it do it do it_. It would be easy to do it, to lean in before the fire in Axel's eyes died, to surprise the both of them. But Axel's phone rang, and the moment was lost, Roxas' hand knocked away inches from the figurative cookie jar. "That was him. He wants me to come over."

"Okay," Roxas said, pushing past Axel's arms to stand, stretching. This didn't have to be complicated. He was completely in love with Axel, completely, but Axel didn't want him. It wasn't complicated at all. "Have fun."

--

Roxas was awake when Axel came back into the room at four in the morning, trailing sex and cigarettes in his wake. After Axel left, Roxas gave a valiant attempt at finishing the poem explication, eventually throwing his anthology, pen, and notebook in an appalling little heap after the first hour. The reason he was awake at four in the morning had little to do with Wordsworth, though, and more to do with Sora at 9:01pm, voice tinny through the receiver as Roxas stared at the underside of Zexion's vacant bunk.

"I miss you already," he'd said, phone tucked against his neck and ear, eyelids drooping.

"I miss you, too, man, but guess _what_?! I found my keyblade today!"

"What?" Roxas' eyes fluttered open. This wasn't happening.

"My dad hid it in the shed, man, but I found it!"

"Sora," Roxas tried, hating the way his voice sounded weak, scared. _Please, no. Let him be okay. Let him be tired._

"Mickey says hi. We're going to hang out when you get back, Rox, okay? Come soon!"

"_Sora_," Roxas whispered, closing his eyes.

"You're breaking up, man. Come back soon, Roxas! We love you!" Sora made kissing noises as he ended the call, and Roxas felt like his world was ending.

And when Axel came in, four in the morning, Sora's mention of the "keyblade" hadn't faded in his mind. It stood out, branded into his short-term memory with an armada of crooked burning steel. Axel stood in the shadows, and it didn't occur to Roxas that this shouldn't be happening, that he shouldn't have been able to get in unless Zexion gave him his key. Instead he held his breath, crossed his fingers as Axel came closer to his bed, staring down at him in the dark. Axel watched him for a long time, silent, and Roxas had to remind himself to breathe because he was supposed to be sleeping, not dead. Why had Axel come? Smelling like sex, silent, why had he come to stand in the dark and look down at him?

He was half-angry, half-desperate, and hardening in his bed as he imagined a hundred different scenarios where Axel came into his room and kissed him all over his face, kissed out the pain, and loved him so hard that the other things didn't matter anymore, so hard that Sora shrank down to normal size instead of the towering, all-encompassing everything that he'd become to Roxas, dwarfing him. So hard that the pinpoint that was Riku snapped off inside him, broken by something stronger, finally. The proximity of the older boy was sucking the air out of the room, a blazing pillar using up all the oxygen, all the thought. _Just touch me. Say something. Touch me_. Roxas waited and waited, anticipation so tangible that ghost hands pressed at his body, his hips shifting to rub up against a mouth that wasn't there. Roxas waited, but the touch never came.

Axel left just before dawn. He leaned down over Roxas, the blonde watching through his eyelashes, and his hand hovered an inch above Roxas' face, his breath held, before he turned and walked away, silent, leaving the low trace of come and sweat burned into the air behind him.


	12. Chapter 12: Kaleidoscopes

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: MOAR FANART. Roxas looking lovely with wings and Roxas and Axel bound and blindfolded, courtesy of **ironyofalostkeyword**, along with a droolworthy classroom scene involving Axel and Roxas by the ever-gifted **pouikee**. You know the deal: profile, links. I totally got through about half of the reviews from Chapter 11 before I… stopped. I started reading Katekyo Hitman Reborn, and it stole my soul for a little. And then a bunch of Really Horrible Shit™ happened, but I'm soldiering on like Coldplay tells me to. Two months is an awfully long time to not update, and I apologize for being a shitty author. Thank you for sticking around.

This chapter: Come, friends. Ride the drama llama with me.

--

**Chapter 12: Kaleidoscopes**

Supposedly there was a trick to it, some artful combination of mnemonics or precise groupings of letters that would cement the stream of words in his head, stuck there like a string of meaning, but everything so far had failed. Roxas simply could not remember the fucking words. He'd tried route memorization, a ridiculous Jeopardy style question and answer session with Axel, clutching his sides and gasping for breath, at the helm, and even retention by osmosis, shoving the poem under his pillow while he slept. When he was at wits end, midway though Dead Week before Finals, Roxas seriously debated ingesting the text with hopes that the words would somehow sink into his bloodstream.

"Some lemon, some salt. You're the chef, man. You tell me what I need to do."

Axel, sprawled across the floor of Roxas' dorm, propped up on his elbows, looked more amused than possible. "I don't know about _chef_, Rox—I can make a mean cheese omelet—but I tend to cook things consumable by humans. Paper isn't theoretically on that list.

"Unless you count Pringles."

"Yes, unless you count Pringles." Axel heaved an exaggerated sigh, throwing his arms up above his head and baring a strip of pale flesh as his shirt rode up. Roxas looked away. "Maybe you're just shit at memorization. That would explain… well, it'd explain that fucking _horrible_ score you got on the last exam."

"Fuck _you_. The entire time I was studying terms, you were talking to Cloud in the hall or sucking face with him or watching a fucking documentary on chickens!"

"Chichén Itza. Definitely not chickens," Axel corrected. Roxas figured Axel should at least be mildly affronted, but the redhead was grinning away like usual. There seemed to be some hidden subtext that Roxas was missing. "Besides, aren't you like Mr. Rockstar on your good days? How do you memorize songs?"

Roxas squinted at the redhead, confused, for all of five seconds before the question sailed home, landing somewhere above his right eyebrow and parading around with bright, painfully obvious, flashing lights. The realization was like a bolt of thunder from the hand of Zeus, so Roxas spent the rest of Wednesday afternoon making up a melody to his lines of Shelley's "A Hymn to Intellectual Beauty," the poem split in half so he and Axel could present it for their section final. Memorizing it in song form, for whatever reason, was infinitely easier for Roxas, and by Friday at 8pm, he was only marginally flushed, hands clammy as Axel turned up the charm and orated away before the slightly awed undergrads, the first lines rolling past his smiling lips like discernible honey. Watching the older boy present, lines beaten into submission by whatever stunning intellect Axel kept hidden beneath his bony frame, was astounding. The older boy was animated, lively, the words coming to him with an easy, natural grace. It was almost like seeing him for the first time, or maybe a _different_ him for the first time. Had this ever happened? Axel commanding the attention of a room, drawing all the eyes to the way his hands moved, the sounds his mouth made. It was simultaneously familiar and unfamiliar. Maybe that first time, high as a kite and watching the way the flames of the bonfire danced on Axel's face, the ocean rushing in the background. Had Axel been the center then, a scattering of students all turned toward him? Or was he just the center for Roxas? Every movement drawing him, helpless, like a ridiculous little magnet. The only coherent thought Roxas had before opening his mouth to speak his lines was, _No wonder I'm in love with him._

The trouble with learning songs is that you're actually learning _songs_, so try as Roxas might, he couldn't let the melody he'd made up fall away to leave the words alone for him to recite. Fists balled, eyes closed, and in a voice that was half dejected teenager and half concert tenor, he let the poetry spill from him. It had been soothing, memorizing beautiful words and being in close proximity to Axel. Soothing to sing a simple melody in the shower, walking to class, getting dressed. Anything to soothe the way his chest felt so, so empty lately. It had become an issue, keeping him in bed longer than he should be. Keeping him staring at walls, holding up ceilings with his eyes. Stealing the taste from food, muting colors, making him chew drying cement or taffy. Everything lately seemed to take so much _effort_. Axel, though, made it better. Axel, who had an overabundance of good cheer and wide, dazzling smiles. Axel, who insisted Roxas listen as he read aloud a book on Xibalba, the rising and falling of his voice eventually lulling Roxas to sleep. Axel, who had stopped going out on weekends anywhere that did not involve Cloud. Axel, who made him feel like dying, falling to his knees before a diminishing pinprick of light.

The applause jarred him from his thoughts, and Axel grabbed him roughly around the shoulders, shaking him, smiling all over his face. Roxas couldn't make his mouth move. Looking into Axel's eyes, he wondered if the other boy saw how he was slipping, spiraling away beyond reach. Sometimes it seemed like there was fearful recognition in Axel's eyes, a dawning horror that, _shit_, Roxas was depressed. But that light would fade, cheer raining down around him again. Roxas wondered if that was how Axel dealt with it, trying to make him smile. In truth, he didn't worry about it that much. It took too much effort.

"Did you see how those chicks were batting their eyelashes at you? They all want you bad, Rox." Axel looked good wrapped in darkness. Neither of them had wanted the final section of the day, but every other section had been closed. They didn't get out until after the dining commons stopped serving dinner, so it had been a ramen affair for awhile, stealing packets from Demyx's stash and heating them up in HPV's second floor kitchen, commandeering some hippie fuck's non-stick wok to substitute as a pot. Without daring to borrow forks or spoons from various anonymous and potentially STD-filled HPV denizens, they'd used random still-packaged wooden chopsticks Roxas found shoved at the back of a drawer containing, mysteriously, nothing but manual juicers and nutcrackers. After Axel complained of malnutrition and dangerous levels of sodium, Roxas agreed to let Axel take him out every Friday after section was over. Before he committed to it, Roxas made a mental deal with himself not to make it a thing. At least, it was _supposed_ to be a mental deal.

"It's not a _thing_," he'd said, shaking his head briefly, eyes closed.

"What's not a thing?" Axel had asked, peering into his face curiously.

"Uhh." Because even though Axel had taken him out to get food countless times, that was all before the older boy had decided to fuck his clone. It couldn't become a _thing_ because there was no _thing_ for it to be.

"I just don't want us to die of vitamin deficiency or something, I promise," Axel swore, hands lifted up in a blatant show of what was supposed to be non-finger crossing.

"You can't… you know, you can't have your cake and eat it, too," Roxas had said, straying to clichéd truisms to cover up the fact that his inner voice was failing miserably.

They went into the redzone when Axel had stepped behind him, pulling him back by the hips in a vaguely Riku-ish manner that set Roxas' heartbeat to the pace of a punk song. "But I like cake." And even though it was stupid and wasn't really the point at all, the way it sounded in his ear—Axel's voice right _there_—had been enough to get him to agree. And it wasn't a thing, couldn't be anything at all when they'd come right back and Axel would drop him off to go ride Cloud into a mattress or something. Roxas didn't know what they did, short of ejaculating all over each other like a bunch of sex-crazed teenagers. It's not like Roxas would _ever_ jack off to such rampant sexuality. Not at all. No _way_.

Ramen hijacking a thing of the past, they typically stopped by their respective dorms to drop off their school stuff before heading out to whatever hole in the wall, "probably awesome, man, relax" joint Axel picked out. The last couple of weeks had been abysmal, though, Roxas standing around wordlessly, cheerless, and then picking at his food while Axel smiled, laughed, and was generally very gushy.

"You're gushing again," Roxas said, wondering what girls were even in their Romantic Poets section. "I swear, you're like a girl. Or a delicious snack bursting with tart artificial fruit flavor."

"Mr. Hilarious tonight, I see," Axel said, grinning widely. Always that ridiculous wide smile, like he couldn't be happier or wouldn't rather be somewhere else. Fucking some stupid clone, maybe. Doing lines of coke off some stupid clone's hips. Not like Roxas knew, or like he even wondered. Not at all. "I'm just sayin'," Axel said, sliding a hand into Roxas' back pocket and bringing his body closer. "I have competition for your affections."

"Oh, _you_ have competition for _my_ affections, is it?" Roxas asked. It was difficult to get the right inflection these days, so he was more or less the deadpan comedic relief. _Daria_ came to mind, but he'd never voice the parallel aloud for fear of lasting ridicule and possible homicidal tendencies. "And here I was, thinking you're the apple of my eye. Oh, I'm sorry, has your _boyfriend_ called you yet?"

Axel beamed down at him, leaning close to press their noses together. "Oh, come on, Roxas. You know you're the only one for me."

And that's how it would be. Their Friday night banter, always coming down to one of two things: 1) Axel was a lying douchebag who was fucking Cloud, or 2) Axel was a douchebag who was fucking Cloud. Roxas would play along, his heart pinging away in his chest like a payphone ringing in the middle of fucking nowhere with no one around to answer, and Axel would smile and act like… well, like they were _together_. It was a bizarre feeling, especially after Roxas realized it. Axel would treat him like they were in a relationship, but he would have sex with Cloud instead. All the kissyface hand-holding with Cloud instead. But Roxas got the considerate, charming, loveable douche who danced around to classic rock and popped pills with him during the middle of the day, pulling out a mirror to gauge pupil dilation like it was a contest. Together, but apart. Together, but not fucking each other.

It was confusion after confusion; tumultuous, eardrum-shattering confusing with Axel, with classes. With Sora. Axel's hand still in his back pocket, lined up against the curve of his ass, Roxas permitted himself to think about Sora a little. Just a little wouldn't hurt, wouldn't send him down to that place in the center of his chest where he could just sit and clutch his phone to his ear with Sora babbling on the other side. All Riku could text him was the same stupid mantra over and over again: "He'll be fine." Fine fine fine, a million times fine as Sora sounded wilder, more fevered as he told Roxas about how the Heartless were spreading. Roxas would sit and cry, feeling like something at the bottom of someplace very deep. What could he do? He called Sora's father, had asked him about the possibility of raising the dosage on one of Sora's meds. Sora's father had been oddly defeated on the phone. Tired of dealing with the eventual decline of his only son. Tired of letting Sora collapse and having the strength and sense to pull the pieces back together. Roxas didn't blame him. It was hard to watch the person you love crumble away before you.

Axel was shaking his shoulder before he realized that he hadn't been thinking about Sora just a little. "Earth to Roxas, this is your captain, Axel, speaking. We've reached our destination." There was a snap in front of his face, and Axel's eyes narrowed with what was almost worry. "Come on, Roxas. Come on." The light panic sitting on top of Axel's words made Roxas want to smile. _He's worried? Of course he's worried. He knows. He has to know._

"Sorry. Lot on my mind." Lame excuse was lame, but everyone ate it up all the time, anyway. People either didn't want to hear it, or they had enough of their own shit to deal with. Roxas was doing him a favor.

"Fuck, I Never Learned This Shit. Am I right?" More smiles, but Axel's eyes were searching his face. _Maybe he knows it's worse now. Can't keep up the act anymore. Fuck, I hate this_. "You want to call it a night? I can bring a burrito back for you. You want the regular? Or… whoa." Axel stopped short in his attempt to fill the silence with random chatter. It was a habit he'd picked up when Roxas started falling silent more often, nothing left in his arsenal to throw out and put on a brave or even normal face with. Everything was too much effort now. Even raising his eyes to look at the spot Axel was staring at on the third floor landing was too much effort. But when Roxas saw what Axel was looking at, the three story freefall to the concrete below looked suddenly enticing.

"What are you—" Roxas began, and he was diving forward, already knowing. Axel's hand was ripped from his back pocket as he careened toward the floor, a shooting star with an impetus. Like the end of the world, he saw it coming from on the horizon. Like the end of it all, he felt the world falling away beneath his feet.

"I c-can't," Riku stammered, head leaned back against the glass door leading into Roxas' dorm. Dark, disgusting track marks ran up his right arm, branching upward like an obscene tree. "He's—they put him in at—"

Roxas had his hands fisted in Riku's shirt, his face inches away from the other boy. "WHERE IS SORA? WHERE THE FUCK IS SORA?" Flecks of spit showered Riku's face. He was just barely restraining himself. A phone call would've been nice. A text, maybe, before enough time had elapsed for Riku to drive a hundred and fifty fucking miles away. Roxas could've been home already, could've already been there. "WHERE _IS_ HE, RIKU?" Axel's hand on his shoulder now, steadying him. It felt like his entire body was vibrating.

"Take it easy, Rox." Except the sound of Axel's voice made him feel like exploding; the birth of a star, the origin of an entire fucking solar system.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!" he screamed, a sob following, as he shook Riku hard. The dazed look wouldn't leave Riku's face. Tropical waters, silver dollars. Roxas felt his entire heart being squeezed out of existence.

"BHC. They took him. BHC." Riku was pathetic against his fists, against his fury, sagging into him with tears coming out of slit, pretty eyes. Such pretty fucking eyes. Roxas didn't have to see his eyes to know they'd be little pinpricks, little specks of darkness in foreign seas. The Caribbean, maybe. Disgusted, he shoved Riku away.

"I'm going." He was already mapping the route in his mind, almost to the staircase, when his left arm jerked behind him.

"You aren't going anywhere."

"Get the fuck off me, Ax."

"You're not going anywhere. You have a shitload of finals to study for."

"Get off me."

Axel's grip tightened on his wrist. "You're staying. There's nothing you can do."

Maybe the idea that there was "nothing" set him off. Everything became "nothing" where Roxas was concerned. What was wrong? Nothing. What do you feel? Nothing. What can you do? Nothing. After so much nothing, Roxas just wanted something to fight against. Not something nameless and faceless. And Axel, his gorgeous broken Axel, was such an easy fucking target. "GET THE FUCK OFF ME, YOU FUCKING PEDO!" He tried to wrench his arm free of the redhead's grip, but Axel was apparently stronger than his twig-like appearance proposed. In fact, Axel was dragging him back toward the door of his dorm, Riku having scooted to the side, watching the two of them with dazed dread on his face. "LEAVE ME ALONE! GO SUCK YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND OFF!"

Axel dug around in Roxas' pocket, feeling out the keys. He pulled them out hard enough to tear the blonde's pants a little. "Stop fighting me. There's nothing you can do."

"STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT!" The back of his head was telling him he was being a child. But the front of his head was miraculously clear, and he spit at Riku on his way over the threshold, his hand beginning to numb from the lack of blood flow. "I'm not a fucking baby. I can take care of myself. But I bet you wish I was a baby, don't you, fucking perv. You like throwing me around like I'm some little kid. Fucking bastard. I fucking…. I fucking…" _Hate you. Just say it. It's true, anyway. Almost true._ But Roxas couldn't say it.

Axel managed to unlock his dorm room, kicking the door open and hauling Roxas inside. Wrist still in his vice grip, the two merely glared at each other while breathing heavily. Well, Roxas did the glaring. He couldn't tell what Axel's face was doing in the gloom. He opened his mouth to damn their friendship to hell a little more, but was abruptly cut off by Axel's chest hitting him in the mouth.

"Listen to me. There's nothing you can do. You want to fail your finals? No. I know you don't. You don't need this right now, and I'm sorry this is happening to you. But you don't want to throw your future away for something you can't control. He's in the hospital, right? They'll take care of him."

"_Axel_," Roxas whispered. He felt so _weak_. "Axel. _Axel_." It was harder to breathe, and his fingers were clenched at the back of the older boy's shirt. "I'm so sorry. I'm… I…" _Love you. Just say it. It's true, anyway. It will always be true._ But Roxas couldn't say it.

"Don't apologize. Just stay here. Go to sleep." His face in Axel's hands, green eyes peering into his face. When had he started crying? "I'm going to take care of him until he's clean. I'll send Demyx over here to crash with you until we get it worked out, okay?" Roxas wanted to say it would be fine since Zexion was never around during Dead Week or Finals anyway. He wanted to ask him if he could question the other boy more first. He wanted to scream. He wanted to kiss him. But there was a press of lips at his forehead, then Axel was out of the room. Swallowing thickly, he dug into his pocket for his phone. 9:10pm, and no Sora.

"_Sora_." The whisper fell flat in the empty room, a dull plaintive brush against the still air. A thousand questions raced through his mind as Roxas balled up in the center of the room, drawing his knees close to his chest. What had happened? Had he hurt himself? Did he have a complete break? Would he be able to call Sora on the phone, at least? When could he see him? Would he be okay? The questions flew past him faster than he could pick them out. Mind racing, he whispered Sora's name over and over, feeling nothing other than a sinking feeling in the place where his heart should be.

--

He'd woken up some time in the middle of the night, Demyx stumbling in with little fanfare, tripping over Roxas who had fallen asleep in the middle of the floor. Mumbled apologies and bitten laughter later, Roxas had lain in bed for twenty minutes before deciding to grab his keys and drive to see Sora… except Axel had taken his keys. It was not so much a staggering blow as it was a small, but significant, one. Axel didn't trust him. Or Axel knew he'd run. Either way, Roxas hated himself for being predictable, actions plottable by a fiery piece of shit that should be failing out of college, anyway. Should be getting fucked up the ass by a bunch of disgusting strangers. Not standing around and waiting for Roxas to fall to pieces or waiting for the opportune moment to swoop in and play the hero. Oh, ailing heroin-addicted friend in need of sobering? Axel. Oh, syntactically complicated poetry standing in your way of a non-probationary threatening GPA? Axel.

_Fucking hero_. There had to be some catch. Fuming away in his bed, wide awake at four in the morning, Roxas figured that he must have been cast in a movie he didn't know about. Very reality television, very scripted high school dramatics. There was no way Axel could in fact be this perfect… and then he laughed a little, bit his lips until they bled to stop him from waking Demyx. _Perfect? Must be perfect since he doesn't want a fuck up like you._ Despite whatever imperfections of personal history and preferences Axel boasted, he still didn't want to be with Roxas. No, they could have their Friday night banter and their relationship without the relationship, but Axel was still with Cloud. _Why? What does he even… Cloud doesn't even have a fucking personality. Just quiet and good looking like a… cardboard cutout of a teen flick heartthrob_. Analogies having taken a turn for the worst, Roxas thought sleep might be a good idea. None would come, though. Not after Demyx left, not after Zexion showed up to talk at him, his roommate snapping impatient fingers in his face a few times before cursing his existence and storming away. The passage of time felt impossibly fast. Didn't he have class? Meals to eat? Papers to write?

_Saturday_, he remembered. _No school on Saturday. But Finals next week_. So much studying he had to be doing, and where was Sora, anyway? BHC, Riku had said. Roxas remembered BHC very, very well. From the funny lotion and tasteless mouthwash they provided to the sorry tongue pink sheets that clung to the too small beds, Roxas remembered BHC with obsessive clarity. There had been Kristen, with the rainbow beads on her arms, swinging from the emergency sprinkler head, tongue pink sheet wrapped around her neck. She hadn't been very good at tying nooses; hadn't checked out books on knots, apparently. Hadn't done her homework like Roxas had. She lived. Jackson, the towering skinhead with two perfect dimples, wrapped the tongue pink sheets around his right hand and punched out the third story window, climbed onto the ledge and ranted all over the side of the building like… well, like a lunatic. He lived, too. After three sessions of electroconvulsive therapy, Jackson couldn't remember Roxas' name. So many people Roxas remembered—Robert with juvenile diabetes who threatened his mom with a baseball bat, Brittany with herpes who asked him to throw a chair out the window to liven the place up, Miguel with his voices who took a shit in the middle of the common room and was still miraculously good at trigonometry—and now Sora was superimposed there, another portrait in his catalogue of horrors. Sora with his fake world who sucked Roxas' dick and was his best friend and knew exactly how to hold Roxas in his arms to make him fall asleep at night. Sora with his keyblade who dated Riku and came in Roxas' mouth and knew which cupboard held the ice cream bowls in his kitchen. Sora with his delusions who was perfect in all the ways that mattered and learned how to suck cock from Riku and could slaughter him at Super Smash Bros. Melee. _Sora. Sora. Sora._

Roxas was only aware that he was sitting in the hall, staring across the breezeway that led to Axel's dorm, after someone came in and accidentally kicked him in the kneecap on his way past. A muttered apology, possibly an indignant curse, and Roxas was alone again. His stomach was growling, internal voice mostly silent as he watched for signs of life from Axel's floor. Didn't they need food? Were they even in there? Riku had lovely arms for a heroin addict. Roxas thought of licking them, tongue probing the darkened, collapsed veins that crawled up Riku's arm like a twisted joke of a tattoo, lapping at the damage like a cat before cream. Except for the part where he heard all cats were lactose intolerant. _How is that even possible_? Thirty minutes—or maybe it was three hours—spent thinking about cats he never owned because his mother was allergic to dander. Another thirty minutes—thirty minutes?—dedicated to the exact color of his yellowed fingernails. _It's from smoking. God, I'm so disgusting._ And a healthy hour of general self-loathing, detailing the inadequate way his skin tasted to the unattractive way his eyes narrowed when he was angry or thinking or even just staring off into space, mind blank. _Kill yourself already, fucking crybaby_.

He didn't know when night had fallen, and other than the rough scratch of the carpet at his face, Roxas wasn't really aware of much. Had he been locked out? Didn't he have to pee at all? Had he missed dinner? Like a bunch of waves crashing up against a sheer cliff, the thoughts smashed up against him and he felt nothing at all. The traditional "nothing," though, didn't really cover it. It wasn't that he felt "nothing;" he felt the negative of everything. Not-sad, not-angry, not-happy, not-depressed. A universe of antitheses sliding across the surface of his consciousness, agonizingly slow like a solitary snail over an expanse of concrete or like Cloud's dick pushing into Axel or a small tear down the curve of a cheek. Negatives and allegory: the only things Roxas had anymore aside from the carpet indentation on the left side of his face as his eyes followed shoes approaching the breezeway door from Axel's floor. The shoes—black, nondescript—moved toward the staircase and paused. They walked toward the door of the Crack House. If Roxas could read footsteps, he would have called them "weary," or maybe "dreading." "Fuck no, please," if that could be condensed into a single word. The shoes stood outside the door, pointing at Roxas, for a good while until the prone blonde heard Axel call his name.

"Roxas. Hey. _Roxas_." A little tap on the glass door for good measure. Roxas didn't _need_ to open the door. The redheaded sonofabitch had taken his keys, had kept him from seeing Riku. The ugly motherfucker had stopped him from going to see Sora. And it was just so much _effort_ to raise his eyes, and had Axel always been so _tall_? Roxas was content to stare at those boring, tattered black shoes. He was content to stare, possibly drool a little on the hallway carpet. He didn't _need_ to do anything. _I love you. I love you. I love you. Love me back._

After a minute or two of staring down at Roxas—eyes tired, mouth betraying nothing—Axel turned around and headed back into his dorm, emerging seconds later with Roxas' keys. Roxas flinched when Axel unlocked the door, but the other boy didn't come inside.

"How long have you been here?" Roxas heard the waves crashing in the silence that filled the space where his answer should've been. "Roxas, have you eaten?"

A swallow, a lick of his lips, and Roxas rasped out, "Can I see him?"

"Did you eat anything today?" Axel's voice was oddly unemotional.

"C-can I see Riku now, please?" His body was sitting up, rubbing at itself, at the carpet imprint on his cheek.

"He's going through withdrawals. You don't want to see him."

"Is it bad?"

"No."

For whatever reason, Roxas was wounded by Axel's short answer. Brief, detached, completely uninterested. Or was it tired, half-asleep, desperate. What was going on? "Is… is he okay?"

"He was just on a little binge. He'll be fine." There was more silence between them than Roxas had ever noticed before. "You want to eat something, Rox?"

"Huh?"

"Food. You want to eat it?"

Why was Axel being so _difficult_? Roxas felt like crying. "What?"

He was being pulled up by his forearms a moment later, Axel's fingers gentle on him. _Stronger than he looks_. Roxas wished the redhead would say something, would tell him more about what Riku had said, or tell him about the last documentary he'd seen, or something, anything to fill the hollow air between them. Roxas had to keep swallowing, gulp after gulp of saliva, and his arms were tingling with kinetic memory, his skin remembering how it felt to reach out and wrap around Axel. He wanted to do it, to hug him, but Roxas couldn't make his arms work. There was a burrito in front of him the next time he started paying attention again. Axel was staring at him, not eating anything, with a pale, sleepless look under his eyes. Roxas recalled that the redhead would look that way when they were tweaking. There was a moment where he thought he'd ask him if he'd stayed up all night, but Axel was reaching across to him and unwrapping the foil around the burrito and then depositing it into Roxas' hands. Axel always knew what to order him—"No fucking beans, please, and can we get more steak in there for fuck's sake?"—but eating in front of him now made Roxas feel guilty. Ashamed.

"Roxas," Axel said, and the other boy was suddenly beside him, pulling him up by the shoulder. Roxas dropped the burrito and found himself buried in Axel's arms; a slow, measured heartbeat against his forehead. "You need to eat, baby. Please eat." The plea sounded ridiculous to Roxas, like it was skirting the issue, and where the hell was Axel's food, and why couldn't he go see Sora, but he sat and ate, anyway, Axel's eyes on him the entire time. There was something obscene about it, Roxas was sure, Axel sitting there watching him eat like a starving child; inhaling the burrito like it was air as opposed to food. He wasn't even hungry. Was he? When he finished, Axel was smiling a little.

"That thing any good?"

"Horrendous," Roxas managed, wiping his mouth with a sleeve.

"You have such wonderful taste, Rox. You should write for the Zagat."

"Who?" Roxas didn't remember pulling out a cigarette, but there was one in his mouth, and his hand was lighting it.

"So that's Riku?" Axel asked, eyes sparking. "He's _pretty_."

"That's… that's my best friend's boyfriend."

"_Right_," Axel said slowly, drawing out the vowel. "Your best friend's boyfriend that you're in love with. That's _Riku_ Riku. _The_ Riku."

"I'm not in love with him anymore."

"Oh?" Axel asked, eyebrow quirked. "But you _were_. And he's very, very…" Roxas had never seen Axel flounder before, eyes squinting at something in the air to his left.

"Hot?" Roxas supplied.

"No, I was thinking more along the lines of—"

"Sexy."

Axel smiled hard, eyes flashing a little. "_Short_, actually, is what I was going for. Followed closely by _arrogant_ and fucking _heroin addicted_, but sure, I guess he's hot and sexy. If you're into that kind of thing."

"You're not into hot and sexy guys?"

"Roxas. You're dancing around the point."

"You don't think Cloud is hot and sexy?"

Axel shuddered visibly. "Can we strike the words 'hot' and 'sexy' from the rest of this conversation? I feel very pedestrian."

"Ohhh," Roxas said, leaning forward. "So this is about _diction_ now, Mr. GPA, is it? How would _you_ describe Riku's attractiveness?"

"A seven." Axel pulled the Diet Coke sitting in front of Roxas to his mouth, smirking around the straw.

"Oh, a _seven_? That's _sooo_ articulate of you. I was thinking more along the lines of _stunning_ or _godlike_, but I guess a _seven_ will do."

"Nah, stunning and godlike are nines and tens, respectively. For a seven?" Axel tapped his lips, faux thought drawn heavy on his features. "'Exotic,' perhaps? But 'rabid,' if we want to talk realistically."

"You're an asshole," Roxas snarled. "You're a fucking prick. Thanks for the burrito, douchebag." He was already shoving away from his seat, a nanosecond from turning his back on Axel, when the redhead lunged across the table to push him back into the chair.

"_Relax_. I'm just playing around."

"He _is_ hot and sexy!" Roxas shouted. The fury was coming from somewhere outside his body. He didn't feel connected to it at all. "And I would _love_ to have sex with him!" Various burrito-eating college students averted their eyes.

Axel stared downward, green eyes unreadable. Addressing the table, he said quietly, "Yeah. I bet you would."

"What is this even about?" Roxas fumed, crossing his arms. "I want to talk about Sora, and you're sitting here telling me I have shitty taste in dudes."

"I just," Axel began, voice even, "think it's interesting, is all. I've been wondering what Riku looks like."

"Why would you wonder that? That's a stupid thing to wonder."

Axel was quiet for a while, sipping intermittently on Roxas' Diet Coke before he pushed it across the table. The cup made a strange squawking sound as it slid across the cheap plastic surface. "Is it?" Axel wouldn't meet his eyes. "I just, y'know, wondered what your type is."

_Huge, manly dudes. Small, cute blondes. Like it fucking matters._ "My type is hot and sexy," Roxas deadpanned. Axel's mouth quirked a little and the tension between them eased.

"Yeah, I can see that."

Roxas frowned. _There's no way this is seriously happening_. "Axel," Roxas said, leaning forward. "You know that _you're_ hot and sexy, right?"

Axel's smile widened, and the older boy shrugged. "Duh."

_He's lying_. _How is it possible that he doesn't think he's the hottest shit on Earth? _"So can we talk about Sora now?"

"He had a psychotic break, his parents couldn't snap him out of it, so they checked him in at BHC. They're adjusting his meds and keeping him under supervision. Riku couldn't deal, so he banged heroin for a couple hours." Axel watched Roxas very closely as he related what Riku had told him. "He'd been using more frequently lately. He says Sora's been 'losing it' for a while." Green eyes poured over Roxas, little drills all over his face. "That why you've been fucked up lately? Or is there something else I should be concerned with?"

"Both," Roxas said, looking away. "Both and neither, I guess."

"Both and neither," Axel repeated, looking away, toward Little Vista. "Both and neither, huh. We need," Axel said, gathering the remains and moving to toss it in the trash, "to get _wasted_."

"I really don't feel like it." _Finals. Can't see Sora. Need to study for finals_.

Axel shrugged and gave him a two-fingered salute, a caricature of respect, and turned toward Vista. "See ya."

Roxas watched him walk down the street, hands shoved in his pockets, and felt bile claw its way up his throat.

--

His body had taken up residence in the center of his dorm room, curling into a ball there so as to maximize discomfort and alienation. Roxas didn't know what was going on anymore. A bottle of pills was in his hand, but they were all anti-depressants and they were all not enough to knock him out or make him sleep or poison his body or stop his heart. Everything was not enough for anything. Sweeping generalizations about people, about love, about life, and was he crying now? Had he been crying at all? His face felt dry, at least, so there was that last respect given to him. He could be miserable like a man and not a boy. He wasn't even thinking real thoughts anymore, not really. Vague ideas about blood and sex, about anal and the dizzying rush of Ativan. Slow churnings on the nature of god, God, gods and why he, she, it, or them didn't just end him now. He'd had enough, thanks. There was no reason to articulate, no certain event or even chain of events that he felt justified it, just that it was deserved or it was desired. This is how Demyx found him.

"You really need to stop this unintentional roadblock thing you have going on, Rox," Demyx said, flicking on the lights. He smelled like alcohol, but it was Saturday. The entire campus smelled like alcohol. And pot and sex and drugs, but alcohol, mostly. Even drunk, Demyx noticed the bottle in Roxas' hand. "Whoa. You okay?"

"Nngh," Roxas muttered, completely noncommittal. _I want to die. I want to die. I want to die._ Repeating loops were, apparently, easier to think in.

Demyx crouched near him, sitting him up and rubbing at his arms. "Have you taken any of these? What are these, Roxas?" Roxas just shook his head, swallowing buckets of his own saliva despite the way his mouth felt dry, parched. Was it hot outside? "Weren't you with Axel earlier? I saw you heading toward the burrito place."

"He left," Roxas said, voice hardly above a whisper. _Man the fuck up. What's wrong with you? Fucking weak little bitch._ "He went to get fucked up." Images of Cloud flitted briefly across his mind, and he shuddered. Demyx rubbed his arms harder.

"Let's get you in bed, buddy." Demyx smelled like Maker's and Marlboro reds. Roxas wondered what supplied this memory since Demyx only drank beer and didn't smoke cigarettes. Head on his pillow, he heard Demyx on his cell. "Get your ass over here. I don't give a fuck what you're in the middle of. How could you leave him like this?"

_Please don't be Axel. Please be Axel. I want to die. Where's Sora? Where's Riku? I have to study for finals. Axel, please be Axel._ Chatter, all mindless, on and on as he watched Demyx stare at his face, chin resting on his crossed arms and knees. Demyx was saying something, but Roxas didn't remember how to listen. It was only when Axel came in, clothes in disarray, lips chafed a blurry red from probably sucking dick, that Roxas started paying attention again.

"…and no matter what happens, you have to remember that—fucking _finally_! I called you thirty minutes ago!" Demyx stood hastily, confronting Axel.

The redhead swayed in the doorway. "I… got lost a little." A smile that Roxas wanted to kiss. "Just a little bit."

"Look at him," Demyx pointed. "He was holding a bottle of pills, basically comatose on the floor." This seemed to sober Axel a little, and his brows knitted a fraction of an inch closer. _He doesn't care_.

"Which pills?"

"These ones," Demyx said, disgusted, pulling them from his pocket.

"These are fucking Lexapro. Do you know how many of these he'd have to take to do something?"

"THAT IS NOT THE FUCKING POINT, AXEL." Roxas really wanted to understand why Demyx was so mad. "The point is that he _wants to at all_. I can't believe I'm explaining this shit to you!"

"I'm sorry," Axel said, tossing his hands up. "I'm fucking sorry. I'll just go now."

Roxas felt the wetness on his cheeks and he thought of miracles, of statues crying blood. How was this happening now? Demyx was enraged with Axel's response and merely stormed out of the room, maybe muttering something like, "I'm done." Roxas didn't understand anything at all.

Even drunk, clothes messy and hair beginning to tangle, Axel was still nice to look at. Maybe not hot and sexy in those traditional ways, but in other ways ingrained in Roxas' skin. He liked to look at Axel very much. _Why do I love you when you can't stand me?_ He tried to breathe, but his nose was all clogged up, and why did that happen, anyway? Why did he have to get snotty, like his body forgot hot to process snot as his eyes forgot to swallow tears. He could probably, Roxas decided, look at Axel forever. If he contracted some horrible disease that would only allow him to see one thing for the rest of his life, Axel, standing just like this, not looking at him (because that would maybe hurt too much if he had been looking), would be a very fine choice. All angles and all arrogance and all defensive and all ready to fight anything, everything, anyone. How had he gotten so lucky? _At least I can be his friend. At least there's that._

"I'm sorry," Axel said, still standing in the middle of the room, still not looking Roxas in the face. "I couldn't deal. I'm sorry."

"I want to kill myself," Roxas said. "I think I have you beat."

Axel broke a little, crumpled, and crossed the room in two strides, kneeling at the side of Roxas' bed. "But _why_, Roxas? _Why?_"

_Because I love you. Because I love everything and everything ends. And it all hurts too much or takes too much time. And it's so hard to love everything all the time. Harder when nothing loves you back._ "I don't know." It wasn't a proper lie. More of a half-truth, since he couldn't pick from among the myriad reasons.

"I know you're having a hard time, but things will change." Axel looked sick, tired. Roxas had wondered if Axel had been talking about not being able to "deal" with him, but from the way Axel spoke, eyes somewhere far away, it wasn't just about Roxas. It was about everything—maybe nothing, too—that Axel covered up with his rapid chatter, their Friday night banter. Misdirection.

"It's not _things_," Roxas insisted. "It's not what's happening. It is, but it also isn't." Why was this so difficult to explain? It was the easiest thing in the world. "It's everything. It's nothing."

"You need to hold on. Wait… for things to get better. I'm working on it." Axel's hands were folded in prayer, the tips of his fingers red as they pressed into his knuckles, but Axel was not religious at all.

"Working on what?" Roxas understood nothing. Had he ever understood anything? School, that was debatable. But life? Friends? A continuous dupe dragged out over the course of his entire life. He knew nothing at all.

"On me. On things. I love you, Roxas. Please wait for me."

"Stop saying that. Stop."

"What? That I love you?"

"You… you hurt me." Roxas' voice was very small. "You confuse me."

"Your _friends_ hurt you, Roxas. They confused you. Sora? Your best friend? He fucked you over. You are fucked because of him."

"You—" Roxas began. This must be what it felt like to stand on the precipice of the apocalypse. "Don't you fucking say that about him."

"I'm trying to do it _right_, Roxas. If you knew… how much I—" Axel swallowed away the rest of the sentence. "You have no idea. I've known you nine months, Roxas. You have no idea what I—" More decapitated sentences, phrases left open.

"There's nothing wrong with me," Roxas said, hearing Sora's words, fevered little presses of lips against his face.

"Your best friend tell you that?"

"He's…"

"He's in a fucking mental hospital, Roxas. You gunna base your reality off of what a fucking _mental patient_ has to say?"

"_Fuck you_."

"Yeah. Fuck me. You'd love to fuck me, right? You want to fuck me right now? How 'bout I suck your cock like I've been dying to all these fucking months. Jacking off every fucking night until my hand cramps, just imaging your perfect little mouth wrapped around me. Dreaming of spreading your fucking cheeks and licking you, tasting you. Every _night_, Roxas." Axel was shaking, not looking at him at all. "I get _sick_ when I think about how bad I want you."

"Because I'm gross," Roxas said. If it were possible to implode, he would've done it already. _It's okay. I deserve to hear how I'm not good enough for him to fuck. I deserve this_.

"Gross?" Axel asked, laughing sadly. "Grossly _awesome_, maybe. I've tried to tell you so many times the way you make me feel, but… I'm just not good with words, I guess, or you think they're all bullshit. You think I'm walking, talking bullshit. Flirting with you, fucking that kid's brother." Axel finally raised his eyes to meet Roxas'. "Come on, Rox. It's not rocket science."

"You're a genius. My mind doesn't work like yours."

"I just want to get it out of my system."

"What?" The four horsemen riding through a current, banners billowing out behind them like ink or blood in water.

"Your face." Axel brought a shaking hand to his mouth, thumb running across the seam of his lips. "Your face is…" Axel smiled, mirthless, "Godlike, did you say? Your face is impossible, like the existence of life on earth is impossible. Or improbable, if you really want to avoid cutting corners. Your face is a statistical wonder. Divine." More sad laughter, Axel's hand slipping behind Roxas' neck. The hair on the blonde's arms was standing up, his heart pumping so loudly that Roxas was sure he could hear the blood rushing in and out of his valves. "You're a ten, Rox."

"Oh." _Fuck my life_.

"But there's so much more I love about you other than your perfect face." Axel's hand, shaking on the back of his neck. His green eyes depthless, darkening. "Like your inability to memorize poetry." Roxas frowned and Axel laughed for real, a desperate little chuckle that electrified Roxas' spine. "And how you like breakfast. Or, specifically, the way your eyes look when you see breakfast you really want to eat. And that," Axel pointed at his nose. "How your hold your breath when you're trying to listen carefully." Roxas released a breath, heart pounding now, and Axel's hand on his neck was shaking hard. "You don't take shit from anyone, but you break your back bending over for your friends. You've done it for me. You do it for that Sora kid. And even though we're bordering on terrible romantic comedy dialogue, you have to know that I've tasted your laughter in the air, and it is," a thumb over his mouth again, "_exquisite_. I want to do this right with you." Axel's face was so close now, Roxas could smell the liquid courage on his breath; sweet, outrageously potent, and it was so hard to _breathe_ with Axel above him like this. "Don't you want that, Roxas?"

_Oh, fuck. Fuck. This is it. This is it for sure now_. Axel's lips parted as Roxas exhaled. "Yeah." Inarticulate, astoundingly simple, but this was _it_. They were going to finally, fucking _finally_, kiss. His eyes had fallen shut some time after he agreed and before his dick started to get hard, and _fuck_, that was Axel's breath in his _mouth_, coating his tongue, and _fuck_ those were his lips, close enough to kiss, close enough to _feel_, and Axel was shaking so _hard_ but then…

"S-sorry." A voice in the doorway. Riku. "I'm… sorry." For some reason Roxas felt caught in the act, red handed and irrefutably guilty.

Axel, frozen with lips millimeters away from Roxas', exhaled shakily. "No worries." His body warmth pulled up and away from Roxas. "You guys got a lot to go over. I'll leave you to it."

"Axel, I—"

Axel quieted Roxas with a wink. "We'll talk. You do this now. I'm drunk as fuck, anyway. Need to sleep it off." On his way past Riku, Axel jutted his chin at the other boy. "You good?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Riku didn't smile, hardly lifted his eyes from the floor.

"Don't mention it. You ladies have a good evening." Then Axel was gone, and Roxas smelled the Mai Tai go out with him, trailed by the faint trace of what was definitely come and cabbage. Sex and meth. Wonderful.

"That the guy?" Riku asked, crossing the room and sitting at the foot of Roxas' bed. He looked gorgeous even under fluorescent lighting. Heroin chic and dangerous and, yeah, maybe a little rabid.

Roxas smiled a little, felt like shooting out his cerebellum with a Smith & Wesson, and nodded. "Yeah. That's the guy."


	13. Chapter 13: Promiscuity

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: The fanart chronicles continue with Riku, the unexpected guest, and Sora, our favorite psych patient, both by the prolific **ironyofalostkeyword**, links on the profile. I originally planned posting this early Sunday, but… ahaha, it wasn't written then. AND HERE IS WHY:

The amazing and talented **pouikee** at DeviantArt (**woodbox** at ffnet—read her fic; it's _gorgeous_, lovingly articulated) decided to make one hundred and seventeen glorious AkuRoku paintings, counting down to the US release of 358/2 Days. Probably since I'm insane, I asked if I could do accompanying drabble/ficlet things, which has more or less been keeping me occupied. You can find this project, tentatively titled **117 Days of Pure Fucking Awesome**, over on **117days** at livejournal or **pouikee** at deviantart.

--

**Chapter 13: Promiscuity**

You'd think that people would have something else to think about. It was finals, after all, and then the sprawling decadence of summer. There were road trips to plan, exams to fail, blunts to smoke. Why everyone was suddenly curious about Roxas' little friend—"friend"—Roxas couldn't understand at all. It's not like he and Riku were hanging all over each other, holding hands and swapping spit all over campus. Sitting across from Riku in the dining commons, chewing slowly on a spear of chicken parmigiana, Roxas was acutely aware of the eyes staring holes into his back, making their way through his cells to get a better look at "that hot kid Roxas is fucking." _He's not even that hot._ Too pointy in the face, too pretty. There was a low whistle over Roxas' shoulder, and he turned instinctively, hurling his fork, chicken and all. It landed on the shirt of a very surprised looking, very meatheaded, senior. Lately he'd been plagued by spurts of intense, irrational anger; a sea of drab colors punctuated by sudden flares of red. He couldn't control himself at all.

"Try shutting the fuck up, maybe," Roxas said, shrugging, then picking up his tray. Riku, wearing Roxas' too small hoodie to cover up his track marks, ate another fry and followed. The dining commons were hushed, eyes following Roxas and Riku out the doors. Axel and Demyx were still at the table, Axel's eyes resolutely on his pathetic bowl of salad. Lately Axel was a study in aversion, looking away, turning his face. Outside, Riku slid Roxas' pack from his back pocket, pulling out two cigarettes and lighting them both deftly, handing one over. He'd been there just over five days now, shadowing Roxas everywhere he went short of the bathroom, and sometimes even then, sitting on the counter while Roxas pissed. If Roxas stopped paying attention hard enough, it was like Sora was just in the other room. Sora, in the other room sleeping. Sora, in the other room playing videogames. He'd already bombed one final.

Five days, and they'd already picked up habits, walking down to the beach after dinner and walking along the water until it was too cold or until one of them broke, sat in the sand, and made it a point to have some fucking balls about it and not cry. Forever separating themselves, just like they'd done in high school, with Sora, carving out a place that didn't belong, that defied understanding and shunned acceptance. Though Demyx was back in HPV with Axel, Riku wouldn't sleep in Zexion's bed. Pressed up against Roxas' back every night, the entire time Roxas thinking, _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god._ But Riku had Seroquel, and the boneless, dead feeling it gave Roxas was enough to slide through the days, offering brainless scribbles on essay questions about self-actualization and dog drool. It was just filler until he could see Sora. Filler until whatever happened, happened.

"You finish tomorrow?" Riku, head down, eyes on his shoes. Roxas liked the way his wrists showed in the moonlight. Some things never change.

"Yeah," Roxas nodded. "Romantic Poets final."

"…With that guy." Riku refused to call Axel by his proper name, instead gesturing vaguely and using words like "him" or "guy." Once he'd used, "your friend," with a slight lift of his eyebrows. Roxas' glare had dissuaded him from ever using the latter again.

"Axel, yeah." Axel had been distant since the almost kiss, a master tactician at planning routes that skewed off of Roxas' almost completely, sitting a couple seats down from him and Riku at meals, and doing the chin nod thing whenever he passed Roxas somewhere. At least that's how Roxas saw it in his head. More than likely they hadn't been about to kiss and Axel was merely giving him time to be with Riku, mourn the loss of Sora's sanity or something equally melodramatic. Roxas tossed his stub into the sand and raised his arms up, stretching. "I can't fucking _wait_ to get out of here."

"Yeah." Riku's hand slid around his waist, touching the skin left bare by his shirt riding up, and dipped his face into Roxas' hair, dropping a kiss there. Easy, uncomplicated. Roxas felt razors sink into his bloodstream. There was a time when a touch like that meant nothing, a time when they could be as physical as they wanted, shoving, hugging, sometimes Roxas riding around on his back as Sora dragged them to see the crocodiles and the giraffes. Some things change. Roxas didn't miss the milder days, not exactly. He'd been younger then, irrevocably tied to Sora. Sora smiled and the sun shone. Roxas cried and the clouds came in. Some things change, and you can never control who you start to like. You just like them, automatically, involuntarily. Maybe he'd never really wanted Sora, but he'd definitely wanted Riku.

"What are we doing?" Riku's hands were on his ass, their hips pushed up against each other. Riku was looking down into his face, expressionless.

"Talking." It was strange to think that he had kissed those lips. Stranger still to have been inside that mouth. Knowing the heat, knowing the taste.

"Do you miss him?" Roxas swayed unintentionally, his body doing the work. They rocked side to side in the sand, turning minute circles.

"Yeah." Riku smelled faintly of grease, fries and some sandwich thing from the grill. _Edible_, he thought. _Riku smells edible_.

"We can't do this."

"Talk?" Riku's hands sliding up his back, dividing him into quadrants; a Cartesian graph of corresponding points. This touch meant more, this lead to kissing, this to bed, to sex. Riku's hand brushed his mouth, and he felt sick with want.

"I don't even—"

"I'm not going to fuck you," Riku said, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Roxas shook lightly. "That's… that's good to know."

"Don't you remember, Roxas? It's okay for us. It's different." Riku's tongue in his mouth, touching lightly at the back of his upper teeth. He was right, it _was_ different. Their habits, separate. They didn't need approval, they didn't need what society said was right, what it said was wrong. "I miss Sora." A lick at his throat, his eyes closed against the night.

"I love you, Riku." If he shoved his face hard enough into Riku's chest, it almost felt like Axel.

"Love you, too, Rox." Riku's hands safe on his waist; pressure, applied physics.

--

It was déjà vu, sitting with his bluebook open, scrawling something illegible as Axel watched him, leaned back in his seat, knees up with his hands folded in his lap. It had taken Axel thirty minutes to finish the two hour final. With ten minutes to go, Roxas was on his third repetition of an idea, something about the dwarfing of man when faced with the enormity of nature. He felt like an idiot. Riku had undressed him in the night, touched his stomach with sad, shaking hands. If he stopped paying attention enough, it was like he _was_ Sora. Riku and Sora, touching, sleeping, kissing. He hated himself enough in the morning to vomit, bringing up yellow bile in the toilet after his shower. It wasn't a question of right and wrong. It was shades of meaning, of acceptance and special knowledge. Sora would have encouraged it, maybe. There had to be solace from somewhere; why not each other? Why not familiar hands and familiar paths, fingers twined in the twilight as Roxas listened to their breathing. It was an imperfect replica of him and Sora, laying stuck together like twins, like atoms, but it would have to do.

When the call came for pencils down, books closed, Roxas scribbled furiously in the blank space, bending the tip of his pen with the force of his movements. Axel watched, indifferent. There had hardly been a "hey," when the redhead showed up one minute before the exam started. Roxas couldn't help but wonder if Axel, too, thought he was fucking Riku. Like a kid couldn't have a friend without fucking him. Like he was some huge slut, fucking anything with a hole. Maybe it was in the comfort they had with each other, easy with practice and years of proximity. People saw the familiarity and just assumed, but it didn't mean they were lovers; they were just closer than friends. _It's just kissing_. Roxas was convinced. Just kissing, just comfort. When a touch came on his shoulder, halfway out the door, he whirled around.

"What," Roxas snapped, all misdirected anger and unanswered questions. _Why are you doing this to me? I didn't ask him to come, he just fucking came._

"Whoa," Axel said, taking a step back. "Easy, tiger. Just wanted to catch up with you."

"We eat lunch and dinner at the same table every day. What's been stopping you?" Roxas turned and walked out the door, Axel falling into step beside him. He felt impossibly angry, ready to burn down whole buildings, engulf whole cities.

"You've had your hands full, is all. Finals, your…" he paused, gesturing, "friends. I didn't want to bug you."

"His _name_ is _Ri_ku—wouldn't kill you to say it—and not wanting to bug me never stopped you before," Roxas shot back, fumbling for his cigarettes. _Fuck. Need a new pack_.

"If you want me to back off, I'll back off." Axel's voice was quiet, maybe a little hurt. Roxas didn't give a fuck.

"Why don't you figure out what you want from me, and gimme a call when you get your shit straight." _Hypocrite. Because you have your shit straight, right? You know exactly what you want, who you want it from. You have all the answers you need. You fucking hypocrite._ The air felt still behind him, and when Roxas glanced over his shoulder, Axel was standing still, focused on a lighter in his hands. Roxas realized his cigarette was still unlit, pinned between his fingers. _Fuck_. "Listen," he said, walking back toward the redhead. "I'm… fucked up. I just need to get home and see him, and I'll be cool again."

"Yeah," Axel said, shrugging.

Watching him, trying to get Axel to look at his face, Roxas felt like screaming. Couldn't things work out? Just fucking _once_ couldn't they work out? "Can I get a light?"

Axel flicked the lighter, cupping one side with a hand and holding it out for Roxas. Dragging the flame in, Roxas felt a thumb brush his cheek.

"Gotta quit one day." Eyes darting up quickly, Roxas caught the look of relief in Axel's eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Roxas said, bumping his shoulder against the other boy.

"So," Axel said, continuing toward the dorms. "Riku."

"Yep." _Please don't start. I don't want to hear it._

"He doing any better?" There was a question hidden just underneath, maybe a threat. "_Don't you dare be fucking him. Don't you dare_."

"I guess. We both miss Sora a lot." Lies wrapped up in the truth. They _did_ miss Sora.

There was a pause, Axel taking his cigarette from between his lips and taking a hit. "…He keeping his hands to himself?"

Roxas choked a little. "You buy into that, too?"

"I know you liked him. It's a valid question, isn't it?"

Roxas scowled, ripping the cigarette from Axel's fingers. "He's my best friend's boyfriend. I'm not some slut." _Like some people. Bastard._

Axel flinched a little. "Good. I want you for myself." A smile twitched over his lips, the redhead fighting to keep it down.

"That's not funny, jackass. I'm gunna tell Cloud you're hitting on me."

"Go for it." Pulling out his phone, clicking around, he flashed Roxas his inbox screen. Lots of messages from Cloud in all caps. "We're having a text war or some shit. He 'can't deal with my bullshit.' So fuck him."

"Oh?" Grabbing Axel's hand, Roxas brought the phone closer to his face. One of them read something like: GO FUCK YOURSE, before the screen obscured the rest. Others, all obscured, read: COCKSUCKE, LEAVE M, SHUT THE F, and LOOSE AS. Roxas felt his stomach plummet, twisting with nausea and what was almost… happiness. "You let him call you names like that?"

Axel shrugged. "I get what I need out of him, don't I? Let him call me what he wants. I don't give a fuck."

Clicking over to the outbox was a mistake. "Please don't do—," "Cloud I'm sor—," "Baby I wan—." Roxas let Axel's hand drop away.

"I would never say—" but Roxas stopped, biting his tongue. He had already called Axel names, hadn't he? _Slut. Pedo. Bastard. I hate, I hate…_

"Yeah." Axel shoved his hands in his pockets, looking up toward Roxas' window. "You wanna call that kid down here? Little V is doing this thing—"

"Not a good idea," Roxas said, cutting him off. "They'll eat him alive."

Riku materialized from around the corner, smoking a cigarette. "Who's eating who?"

"Where'd you get that?" Roxas plucked the cigarette out of his hand, tossed it to the ground.

"Took a couple before you left," Riku said, beaming. Roxas could almost feel Axel bristle.

"You fuck, no wonder I've been running out. You don't even _smoke_."

"Poles, maybe," Riku winked, sliding an arm around his shoulder. It was a pathetic marking of territory, one that Axel clearly didn't appreciate.

"I'd love to let you two have it out, but Vista is throwing this party that I'm going to go get shitfaced at. You coming?" Axel had already started walking away.

"That sounds fun." Riku's eyes were too bright, aggressive almost. Roxas wanted to choke him.

"Yeah, whatever." Dinner or drugs. Sanity or insanity. Choice, choices. At least the distraction was good enough to take Roxas' mind off his rapidly diminishing self. Babysitting Riku versus sitting in a corner, despondent. Smoking a bowl versus starting at an empty orange bottle of what used to be Lorazepam. It wasn't exactly a fair trade, standing under a scalding shower and picking out the veins in his arms, but it was enough. For now, it was enough.

--

The theme at Little Vista was some sort of tribal influence thing that made Roxas think of naked people holding flaming spears while dancing around a bonfire, strange drums reverberating around the tiny house, a shirtless Hayner walking around with bongos in one hand and a joint in the other. Predictably, Riku was having a serious session on the couch with Pence and, magically, a newly finished with finals Zexion, playing some sort of game that involved blowing out a bigger cloud of pot smoke. Roxas sipped his Kool-Aid spiked with what tasted like semen, vinegar, and scotch, sitting next to Kairi and her bag of mushrooms. He'd had to decline several times.

"I thought you didn't do that shit," Roxas called over the sporadic thump of drums.

"This is natural, Roxas. A gift from the gods." She was totally gone, her eyes focused somewhere over his right shoulder.

Axel had disappeared shortly after they'd arrived, people gushing over Riku's hair and asking Roxas what closet he'd had his little friend shoved in. It didn't matter how many times Roxas explained that Riku was just a friend from home, people continued to ask, and at increasing decibels as the alcohol flowed on, how long they'd been together. At one point Roxas saw Axel saunter over to Cloud, push the older blonde onto a couch, and straddle his hips… only to be shoved off without a second glance, Cloud pulling a raven-haired _girl_ onto his lap and making nice with her neck. Roxas looked away, unwilling to see the look on Axel's face. It made him feel guilty, like no one should ever be allowed to watch something that personal. He never saw Axel as weak, even when he was getting fucked face down, that wasn't weakness. Watching him crumble under Cloud's indifference scared him. Axel wasn't allowed to be weak. That was the last time he'd seen him.

"Hey," Roxas said, seizing Hayner's wrist. Hayner smiled down at him, sticking the joint in his mouth. He'd made it a point to _not_ take anything illegal into his body, but one little breath couldn't hurt, could it? Exhaling, Roxas asked, "You see Axel around?"

Hayner laughed obnoxiously, beating his bongos a little. "Went off to lick his wounds somewhere. My brother kicked his slut ass to the curb." As opposed to decking Hayner right there, Roxas handed the joint back and wordlessly and headed for the front door. "This new kid is much better than that asshole," Hayner called to his back. "Axel might know how to suck dick, but he's fucking crazy."

_You don't know shit about crazy. Not a fucking thing. Nah, that's some other blonde bitch with butcher knife scars on his arms._ "See ya," Roxas said, throwing a hand up and just barely restraining himself from flipping Hayner off. He debated dragging Riku out by his stupid hair, but he was in the middle of getting a lap dance from Naminé—_fake lesbian bitch_—and figured he could find his way back easily enough. _Fuck this party_. It was like someone was out to get him, some sinister force out to make his life a fucking nightmare.

He was considering drowning himself when he reached the beach, shivering in his hoodie, hands constantly tapping his empty back pocket. He'd been smoking too much lately, with or without supporting Riku's newly restarted habit. Chaining them one after the other after going hours without, staring off into a fog just beyond a wall or someone's moving mouth. Not at any point did he ask himself if this was the sort of depression he remembered. He never remembered. Every time was the first time, every short attention span or long mental meandering while he waited for class to start or sleep to start or the sun to rise, Riku's breath on the back of his neck. And where was Axel now? Out at Q's, looking to fuck away his sorrow? Already in someone not quite stranger's living room, sucking cock for an ounce of unreality, a sliver of distance from a turbulent emotional present? Drugs, sex, drinking—all of them distractions from everything, from nothing. Roxas was so sure the older boy had gone out, fallen back into his sick routine, that he gasped when he saw a flame of red at the shore, stripping his shirt off. Roxas couldn't get there fast enough.

"What are you doing? It's freezing." His arms went out, snatching Axel around the waist like he thought he was going to lose him in the tumbling surf. His body, usually an abnormally warm temperature, was icy. Roxas bent over quickly, grabbing at Axel's shirt. "Put this on, dumbass."

"I needed him, Roxas." His voice, low, angry, felt like being worked by a rogue wave, chest crushing against the bottom of the sea.

"You'll find someone else," Roxas said unhelpfully, shaking sand from the shirt and holding it out. "Lots of people can"—_fuck you_—"make you happy. He's just one douchebag guy."

"I _needed_ him." Axel scratched at his arms, squatting to the ground and burying his face in his knees. Roxas didn't want him to elaborate. Didn't want to hear how good Cloud felt or how amazing the sex was. Roxas, who had only fucked his hand, didn't know how to fuck anyone. How to be fucked, maybe. How to suck dick, maybe. _No wonder he wanted Cloud_.

"There's other people."

"No," Axel insisted. "There's only…"

Roxas made a distressed noise and threw the shirt over Axel's head, pulling it down so it covered him, trapped his arms at his sides. He wrapped himself around Axel and squeezed. _No. Not him._ "Let's go inside. It's cold."

"I wanted to swim a little," Axel said, slumping against him slightly. It's almost like Roxas could feel Axel giving up against him, giving in.

"It's dangerous to swim at night. You could… get eaten."

Axel laughed; a short, mirthless sound. "Really?"

"Yeah. By a shark or a whale or lobsters. And I'd cry over your eaten corpse." He'd only had one hit, but maybe he was a little high. _Lobsters_?

"That's gross." Axel moved his arms, pulling them through the sleeves and turning in Roxas' arms, long limbs curling around Roxas' back. "Look at you. All worried."

"Fuck him," Roxas said, trying to pull Axel down. _What are you doing?_ "You don't need him."

Axel stared down at him, resisting the pull, smiling almost. "Yeah. Yeah, I did." He was walking them away from the surf, Roxas tripping lightly as he was propelled backward. "He was a good distraction."

"From _what_?"

Axel dropped his arms, continued his way across the sand. "You."

_Ugh. This again._ "Me?"

"Yes, _you_. Your pretty little eyes."

"They aren't little." Roxas felt warmth spread through his body. _This again and again and again._ It was an exercise in futility, playing along with whatever random flirtations Axel had for him. It was just a game, wasn't it? The "love" game. Axel just liked to see him blush.

"Your little ass." Axel was smiling, faced turned away.

"Perv."

"Yeah, probably." He turned to hoist Roxas up some of the rocks obscuring the campus from the beach, and Roxas swore he felt intent in the way Axel's hands pushed at his body. "You know, that happened before?"

"Someone breaking up with you?" He needed a cigarette bad, something to occupy his mouth with. Settling for the drawstrings of his hoodie, Roxas shoved his hands in his front pocket.

"Well, that too. But I mean the shirt thing. My mom used to dress me before school."

"Uhh."

"Well, don't sound too disgusted or anything," Axel chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"It's not _disgusting_. Bizarre, maybe. How old were you?"

"Your age."

Roxas balked. "_Nineteen?_"

"Twelve."

"Tch, dickhead."

"I didn't want to go to school. I would threaten to drink bleach, throw myself down the stairs of the apartment we were staying at. Random, stupid shit."

"Why?" Even if Roxas thought hard about it, it was hard to see Axel doing any of that.

"Got teased a little. My hair, mostly, sometimes my body."

Roxas eyed him quickly, swallowed." You have a nice body."

"Thanks, baby." Axel dropped a wink over his shoulder, his long strides keeping him just out of reach from Roxas' retaliating swat. "I used to care then. I don't now. It toughens you up, y'know? Thick skin and shit. Now people can call me whatever the fuck they want. I stopped caring a long time ago."

Roxas studied his back appraisingly, noting the outward stab of shoulder blades. "Nah. You still care."

"You think?" Axel unlocked the door to HPV, holding it open for Roxas to walk through.

"You try to convince yourself that you don't, but you do. It makes you angrier, more of an asshole."

"You're just full of compliments tonight, aren't you?" he asked, tossing Roxas a bottle of water as the blonde sat on his bed. The sheets were still impeccable. Crisp, white, like he had some iron tucked away somewhere for pressing creases out. Axel pulled his phone out of his pocket, stared at it long and hard before clicking around. "There. Gone. Deleted his bitch ass out and cleared his texts."

Roxas looked mournfully at his water, taking a sip. "If I'm really that unhealthy for you, we can just… stop being friends. I'll just stay away from you." _Because you really mean that, right? Pussy. You'd probably stalk him all over campus._

Axel walked over, kicked Roxas' legs apart and stood between them. "Hey. Look at me." Roxas raised his eyes wearily, feeling too warm and out of breath and so _tired_ of this little game. "Don't you ever fucking say that to me."

"Okay," Roxas said, quiet, putting the bottle of water to his lips again. How was he going to last the summer without him?

"I mean it, Rox. Don't even think it." There was a moment of stillness so profound that Roxas swore his heartbeat filled the room. Then Axel sniffed, gave a whispered, "_Fuck_," and walked toward the door. "I'm a fucking mess. I'll be right back."

Roxas wasn't quick enough to catch his face, but it sounded like he was… crying? Angry? Swallowing the water quickly, Roxas kicked off his shoes and laid back on the bed, trying to imagine what it felt like to have Axel come in, strip, and pour over his body like liquid. It was definitely the wrong train of thought, his hands creeping around his pelvis. He jumped when Axel's phone went off, a buzz that rattled against the television sitting atop the mini-fridge. Sliding from the bed, Roxas picked up the phone. He'd never had the liberty of touching it without Axel handing it to him first, deleting nudes or whatever it was he clicked around doing before showing Roxas some ridiculous text or letting him call someone. The number, a new text, wasn't one he recognized. He waited a second, listening for approaching footsteps in the hallway, before opening the text: "come over." Considering Axel had just deleted Cloud out of his phone, it wasn't hard to guess who the text was from. In a moment of blind rage, Roxas hit reply and fired off a text:

_leave me the fck alone u stupid motherfcker. ur dick is small and i could find better on a street corner. txt me again and i'll rip your hairy balls off._

The text was sent before Roxas had time to think. _Who the fuck cares? He's just using him for ass, anyway._ His hands shook as navigated around, deleting the evidence. He stared at the inbox, paranoid, waiting for a response, but none came. He clicked back to the main screen, about to set the phone down, when his heart stopped. _…What?_ The wallpaper Axel had set was definitely familiar: all those months ago, when he'd formed the word "believe" out of pebbles while sitting at his favorite bench on the bluffs. Axel had walked up behind him, quiet because Roxas had been singing, spaced out with his eyes on the setting sun. He remembered turning around, catching Axel with his phone in his hand. Now that he thought about it, he'd never seen Axel's phone in any capacity at all other than the inside of his inbox. _That's what he was doing. Fucking idiot, he wasn't deleting nudes; he was hiding his screen from you._ It didn't make any sense at all. Why would Axel do that? What did he _want_ from him?

The door opened before Roxas had an opportunity to drop the phone. Like a deer in headlights, he stared at the redhead as he walked in, hair damp around the sides of his face, cheeks colored with the flush of warm water. Axel's eyes fell on his phone in Roxas' hand before he raised his hands defensively.

"I can explain that—"

"You were hiding this from me," Roxas said, walking toward him. "You didn't want me to see it. Why?"

"I just… I didn't want to—" Axel said, hands still up like he thought Roxas would hit him. "I'm sorry. I'll take it off."

"_Why_ are you apologizing?"

"I knew you wouldn't like it. I'm so sorry, I'll take it off right now."

"_Axel_." Roxas had already dropped the phone to the floor, his hands sliding up Axel's chest. His whole body was vibrating, a set pitch like the press of a piano.

"You don't like me that way, I get it. I know. I'm sorry. I fucked up." Axel's eyes were closed, shut furiously as his hands closed on Roxas' hips.

"_Axel_," Roxas whispered, choking on the sound of it. His throat was closing up, the world wavering around him. Is that what he thought? How could he possibly, _possibly_ think that Roxas didn't want him, didn't _crave_ his presence? His hands shook against Axel's chest, reaching up to rest on his shoulders.

"This is why I needed Cloud. Because I can't touch you. You'll hate me. I need to do it right with you." His voice broke, words warm on Roxas' face. "I _need_ you, Roxas. I can't afford to fuck this up with you. Everything I touch… I fuck it all up. I love you. I'm _in love_ with you."

Roxas tasted the words on his mouth before he felt Axel's lips, pressing, perfect, against him. Like breathing for the first time, air rushed into his lungs, weighting his eyelids, and he felt the passage of space around him, flying past as his back hit a wall, something crashing to the ground beside them. His fingers were tangling in Axel's hair, curling, twining, as the redhead's hands raced over his body, pushing clothes up and searching for skin. Roxas was moaning, louder than he was aware of, into Axel's mouth, hard against the torso his legs were wrapped around. So this is what it was like. Kissing Axel, coming home. This is what it was like. Axel's hands rubbed at the front of his jeans, whispering curses into his mouth, and Roxas gurgled, choking on the need, the _want_.

If Axel made the move, Roxas would have surrendered all, had already surrendered all, his kisses a series in waving white flags, hands up and falling to his knees. This is what is was like, Axel stroking his hair and pressing kisses into his skin while the world spun around them. When the rush died, after the searing flight of color and sound had finished crashing around them, Roxas relaxed his legs, aching now, and Axel lowered him to the floor.

"Wow," Axel said, smiling into the palm of his hand as he wiped traces of spit away from his mouth. Roxas felt unspeakably embarrassed, had to gasp a little to catch his breath. "I've wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you making out with Hayner back in September." Axel's thumb swirled circles at his throat. Roxas tried to laugh, but it came out in a hysterical giggle that he bit off the end of, diving into Axel's chest and squeezing his eyes shut. _This is real. This happened._

"If you ignore me all summer, I'll be so mad," Roxas said, shaking a little. It was scary. This feeling, being completely at the mercy of someone else, was hard for him to accept.

"If _someone_ knew how to respond to texts, I'm sure that wouldn't be an issue."

Roxas rolled his eyes, opened his mouth to object, and found it abruptly full of tongue. "Mmmphf." Axel laughed into him, and Roxas wondered if it was weird that the idea of swallowing his laughter, having some intangible piece of Axel inside him, got his dick hard.

--

Hauling the last postal cart full of shit to his car, sweating like he'd been running a marathon, Roxas couldn't say he was sad to finally get the fuck away from Kingdom. Zexion had turned up around ten in the morning, rambling about abdicating his throne and why the _fuck_ were they still in bed when they had two hours to evacuate the premises. In what looked like a whirlwind of activity, Zexion had his portion of the room packed and spirited away before 11:15 a.m., wheeling up a vacuum and passing it off to Riku before pinky-swearing Roxas into rooming with him next year.

"I mean it, you goddamn gorgeous sonofabitch."

"Are you _high_?"

"No shit. I'm at Vista for most of the summer if you feel like visiting." Shooting a wink at Riku, Zexion added, "Bring along your _friends_ if you decide to come to tea." Sliding on a bulging backpack, another wheely backpack full of books in hand, Zexion stalked through the door. "Do me a solid, Roxas, and find your smile over the summer. I cannot fathom your penchant for doom and gloom these days. Cheer up. The world is alive with the sound of music."

"The _hills_, you mean."

"Yes, those too. The sound of _music_ and really legit herb. HAVE GOOD ONE!" He was halfway out the door, out of Roxas' reach, when he added a hasty, "Text me, Riku!"

"Is he always like that?" Riku asked, plugging the vacuum in.

"Yes," Roxas admitted, folding the last of his clothes and shoving them into his overflowing suitcase.

With his car packed, Riku off returning the postal cart to the student center, there was just one more stop before Roxas headed home for the next three months. Home, Sora, his mom. Three months. He took a deep breath before he hurled a pebble at Axel's window. After a moment, Axel pushed aside the curtains, looking confused. Spotting Roxas in the courtyard, he laughed, disappearing for a second before reappearing, phone pressed to his ear.

Roxas answered before the first ring was though. "Does this mean I'm Juliet?" Axel was beaming, leaned up against the window.

"A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"Consider me charmed. Having that lit kid as a roommate has clearly been in your favor." Axel winked down at him. "Getting you all cultured and quoting Shakespeare and shit. You wanna come up for a bit, or are you taking off?"

"Riku's already headed for the car."

"Let me put some pants on, and I'll be right down."

"Perv."

"Oh, you like it."

Roxas ended the call, cheeks aching from the smile smeared all over his face. How was this even happening? Nine months later, a veritable pregnancy of time, and it was happening, finally happening. It wasn't so much joy as it was an electric, soaring sensation radiating out from the center of his chest.

"Hey." Axel, wearing pants, stepped out of the door. Roxas felt himself opening, unfurling toward the other boy. It was the most natural thing in the world to reach up into Axel's inclining body, press their lips together. They were still kissing two minutes later, Roxas lost in the taste of his mouth. Demyx was whistling down at them from the window.

"We need to stop that," Axel said, petting his face.

Eyes closed and leaning in to the touch, Roxas asked, "What?"

"This being all over each other thing."

"Healthy curiosity," Roxas murmured, standing on tiptoe and pulling the other boy down again.

"Mmm," Axel said against his lips. "I'm curious about other things."

"Oh?" A hand sliding around the band of his pants, teasing the skin there.

"_Very_ healthy curiosity. I have an unbearable need to acquire _knowledge_." Axel licked along his jaw and Roxas felt the world spin.

"I'll text you."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Axel seemed unwilling to let go, his arms tight around Roxas' body.

"I _will_," Roxas insisted. _Unless I kill myself. Unless Sora isn't okay. Unless Riku gets in the way._ So many complicating factors. It wasn't the right time, but he needed this. He needed the promise.

"You gunna wait for me, Rox?" Axel's voice was constricted, just barely ghosting words out into Roxas' temple.

"There's nothing to worry about." _Liar_.


	14. Chapter 14: Ballerinas

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: LB is currently rising from the ashes. My bad for the 80 year wait. You will probably quickly realize that it was not worth it at all, heh. 117 Days still going on, link on the profile. New fan art also on the profile. I wrote an AkuRoku oneshot, _Fortunate Son_, also on the profile. Do you love repeating records? God damn do I ever.

My deepest thanks to everyone that reviewed the last chapter: you're all on crack, and I can't see what you see in this story, but I love you all the same. The quote at the beginning of the chapter spawned the underlying philosophical aesthetic for this story. Deep shit. ENJOY!

--

**Chapter 14: Ballerinas**

_"And there is no evil in our bodies, for ugliness and disease are a defect in form and a lack of due order. What is here is not pure evil but a lesser beauty."_--Pseudo-Dionysius, _The Divine Names._

Old habits die hard. Tongue stuck to the back of your throat, heavy with chemical dread and something just short of comprehension, an endless stream of things getting away from you. Rome, Roxas reasoned, didn't fall in a day. A single act like the hand of God didn't come in and sweep its foundations away, its years of cultivated glory. Instead there was an inevitable chipping away of things, a slow decline. Besides, Roxas should know better than anyone that a kiss is just a kiss. So when Axel texted three days into the summer break, an impersonal, "Hey, what's up," no punctuation involved, Roxas responded nonchalantly. He stared at the text for twenty minutes, sat through a highly uneventful phone call with Axel that felt more like pulling teeth than talking to someone you've been jacking off to every night—sometimes in the afternoon—for three days straight. After they'd hung up, Roxas stared at his hands long and hard before calling up Sora's dealer and buying a sack of weed that he'd since spent more time smoking than he spent eating or pissing. His mother, worried about him in a frustrated, Why Are You Doing This To Me, way that meant she walked around him with her hands on her hips, asked him if he was taking his medicine.

Yes. Yes, he was. Medicine, self-medicating medicine.

Riku insisted they see Sora, eyes bloodshot and staring up at the roof of his Benz while Roxas polished his cock with the really bubbly kind of spit that happens after you gag. It was a new thing, the sucking Riku off thing, but Roxas wasn't concerned about morality anymore. There ceased to be a Right and a Wrong, instead there were different shades of gray, some more exciting than others. In the last logical stronghold of his mind, Roxas reasoned that it wasn't Wrong if he sucked Riku's cock as long as he didn't like it. His dick got hard, but like Sora said: he could get hard over toast. Not a big deal. Just sucking cock. Swallowing down bitter warmth—Riku's cock lodged in what felt like his trachea, Riku mashing his face down against the rough scratch of shaved pubes—Roxas wondered what Axel was doing. Maybe he was sucking cock, too.

Sora was sitting in a chair with his knees drawn up to his chest, a trail of drool dribbling out of his mouth, dragged down by gravity as his body listed to one side. He was on a cocktail of antipsychotics, Haldol probably, and Roxas envisioned himself sucking at the inevitable puncture wound in Sora's ass, a child suckling its mother for one drop of tranquilizing bliss. Roxas never thought he'd envy Sora, crazy Sora with the clown shoes, but _shit_. Must be nice.

"Hey, baby," Sora drawled, crawling his way across the table and sticking his tongue in Roxas' mouth. Riku rolled his eyes in what was supposed to be annoyed amusement, but Roxas could see the hurt. Sora was slimy in his mouth, tasted like morning breath and despair. "You've been sucking on peen," Sora whispered into his ear, and Roxas stilled. "Peen sucker," Sora whispered, tongue fucking his ear passage. Aside from being supremely disturbing, not much was accomplished from seeing Sora aside from a) wanting to ransack the hospital pharmacy for sedatives and opiates and b) the mild entertainment of watching Sora accuse Riku of being "heartless," before miming attacking Riku with a giant imaginary weapon complete with cheesy sound effects that, from what Roxas gathered, were Sora's version of lasers and impressive beams of heroic light. That, or aliens.

After Sora upended the ping pong table in the corner, weidling the two paddles like a particularly violent brand of schizo, the orderlies asked Roxas and Riku to leave. Roxas had to physically restrain Riku from driving downtown to buy a hit of smack, just one taste, please, Rox, please.

"I'll fuck you," Roxas promised. It was a fair exchange, wasn't it? Sanity for sanity? Riku's for Roxas'. They fucked in Riku's room, on his elegant, four-postered bed with a heavy canopy. Roxas, on his hands and knees and feeling dirtier than he had in his entire fucking life, stared at the digital clock on Riku's bedside table, vivid green glare searing into his retinas as Riku fucked him to a lazy orgasm, spiraling neons pulsing out of his guts while Riku kissed down his sweating spine and licked at the come dribbling out of his ass. Roxas was reminded of the drool dangling from Sora's mouth, long and glistening. He felt like throwing up.

Despite long hours smoking pot in his backyard until every shape had a sound, every color a voice, Roxas felt remarkably absent, often staring at his ceiling for hours before falling asleep for half a day. He was awake for less than eight hours a day: smoke, shit, eat, smoke, go over to Riku's, sleep, smoke, suck cock. The predictable drone of days went on and on, and Roxas wondered when he'd last seen his cellphone, wondering if maybe Axel gave a shit enough about him to call. It was far, _far_ too much effort to care too much. It was much easier to smoke his way through the days, skin waxy with a thin sheen of body oils and disuse, and let Riku fuck him instead of blowing his veins on heroin. Halfway through the summer, Riku started to get rough. Started chewing on his neck while they fucked, called him Sora until Roxas screamed that he was Roxas, he was _Roxas_, goddammit, held his wrists behind his back in one hand while choking him with the other. It was the only time Roxas felt anything at all, Riku fucking him dry, tearing into him while kneading the muscles of his back with bruising force. Later it would hurt to lie on his back, four fingers searching mutely at the gaping hole his ass was becoming. How, he wondered, was this going to work now? A giant hole in him, big enough for what little heart was left to freefall out to its death. There was some victorious joy at being this abused, about being this fucked. What a dirty, dirty slut he was. No way Axel would ever touch him now. Or, hey, maybe they could compare diameters.

--

The hardest part was talking to no one. Riku wouldn't talk. If Roxas tried, Riku would kiss him until he stopped, or Riku would leave.

"You're running away," Roxas said, watching Riku's back. Sora was being released in another week.

Riku paused, Benz lights flashing as he unlocked his car. "There's no use in talking about it."

"He's out in seven days and four hours. Will you be fucking me then?" Roxas flicked the lighter and pressed the flame to the piece in his hand, rough burn of smoke hitting the back of his throat before the set of coughs erupted out of him, hacking away into the afternoon sun. He'd forgotten he was in his front yard, out in plain view. It didn't really matter.

"We're just bored."

"Bored," Roxas repeated. He'd started looking gaunt, hollows under his eyes and at his neck. He didn't eat much, which was great for the anal. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his phone.

"Maybe you should take it easy." Riku, suddenly in his face, was taking the pipe out of Roxas' hands.

"Fuck you."

"You go off your meds?" Riku took a calculated hit and cashed the bowl, tapping the ash out onto Roxas' lawn. Roxas growled and made a grab for his pipe. He'd need to buy another sack soon. "You sleep all day, eat nothing, and smoke like Sora." Riku palmed the front of his shorts and Roxas closed his eyes, tilting his face toward the sky. "It's starting to feel like fucking a sack of bones."

"Mm." The sound rumbled in his throat. It felt good when Riku talked shit to him.

"I'm serious, Rox. Take it easy."

Roxas scowled, shoving Riku away. "You sound like that _jackass_. I know my fucking limits." Roxas stormed away into his house, pounding up the stairs into his room and tearing the head off a stuffed animal he kept in his closet. Sora had given him the stuffed floppy-eared dog when they were kids. When they weren't kids anymore, he made a hole in the neck and started stuffing down extra pills. You never know when you're going to be desperate for oblivion, when all you have are a handful of fucking empty orange bottles with not even residue to lick up. An emergency stash of pilled freedom, pilled release, pilled peace. There were more than Roxas anticipated, a rainbow of pastels raining down on his bedroom carpet. Easily identifying the Lorazepam, Roxas shoved four under his tongue to dissolve. _Take it easy? I'll fucking show you taking it easy_.

Boneless, sitting out in his backyard and staring up at the golden sun until, despite the sunglasses and sunscreen, his eyes burned and his skin was the color of a dick rubbed raw, Roxas started wondering about things. Existence, purpose. What, exactly, was the fucking point anymore? What was the point when your best-friend is a nutcase, when your lover is your best friend's boyfriend and you can't stop letting him fuck you because it's the only thing that makes you feel, when the guy you might be in love with is probably a bigger asshole than you anticipated. When everything you touch collapses in upon itself, when everything feels like a black hole sucking at your insides. What was the point?

There wasn't one.

--

It was four in the afternoon in the middle of August, Roxas having battled boredom all day. It wasn't proper boredom, just the feeling of it in his body; a sense of dissatisfaction with everything, with what he read, what he watched, how he sat. Boredom just under the surface of his skin, impossible to extract. He'd tried drinking wine to offset the numbing agitation, but his mom noticed, threatening to ground him or something ridiculous. Rather than dig into his stash of benzos, he decided to by a sack of medical. He cut into his financial aid account to do it, quite a bit more than his $40 every two weeks could cover. It was potent, one-hit-fucked stuff that had him immobile on his bed, sweating into his sheets, head lolling. He'd given up smoking in his backyard when, after he'd first tried smoking the medical strain, he couldn't get up to go inside, the world spinning around him until he was on the ground again, giggling weakly. He decided not to tell Riku he'd bought more pot, just showed up stoned to holy hell and let Riku come in his ass. His own dick wouldn't get hard, and he suspected Riku was starting to get disgusted from touching him, swallowing a sneer as he ran his hands over Roxas' body. It didn't feel good anymore. Then again, nothing did.

Sora hopped out of his mom's minivan all smiles, and Riku had to pinch the back of Roxas' arm to get him to plaster a forced, toothy grin on his face. Sora hugged him first, a long, swaying squeeze that Roxas couldn't feel at all. Sora pulled away, peered into his eyes.

"You fucked up?" Sora looked sedated, edges muted with new mood stabilizers. Roxas licked his lips and nodded. The smile on Sora's mouth trembled. "You sharing?"

"Of course he is," Riku said, pulling Sora into a hug. Riku glared at Roxas over Sora's shoulder. _Shit._ "I missed you."

"Mm," Sora said, voice muffled by Riku's neck.

Despite Roxas' reservations, Riku drove them out to the beach. Sora wanted to go, wanted to smoke and swim. In reality, very little swimming was involved, Sora content to lick his way across Riku's body as the three of them smoked on a safer, less populated stretch of sand. Then it was fish tacos, Sora plowing through four before he looked up, eyes bloodshot, and said, "Munchies." Roxas picked at his own taco, wondering how he'd ever eaten them before. The beach, roaring beside them, was bugging him. He didn't want to be at the beach ever again. Not ever again.

Smoothies, Sora insisted, were necessary, so they walked down to the pier. Sora talked and talked about the kids he'd met in the psych ward--about Cassidy who drew sad-faced stick figures on the walls of their dorm with crayons, about Roach whose brain chemistry was fried from too much E—all the while Riku sending little glances Roxas' way. But Roxas couldn't pull himself together. It was the goddamn beach, and being so bored all the time now, and what was Axel doing now, and Riku slid into him easily now, so easily, and Sora had no idea, no idea, no idea.

"Rox?" Sora's smoothie hovered in front of his mouth. "Sip?" Roxas sipped obediently, eyeing the breaking waves and wondering how bad, really, drowning would hurt. "Did you get any of that? Pool party at my house?"

"For what?" Roxas refocused on Sora's face, big, eager eyes looking right through him.

"Your birthday, retard."

"Oh. Yeah." That's right, his birthday. He was turning twenty at the end of the month. "Yay."

"Wow, well don't sound too excited or anything," Sora said, bumping shoulders with him. "I'll get my parents out, and we'll invite everyone. Sound good?"

Over Sora's shoulder, Roxas noticed Riku glaring at him again. _Get your act straight_, the look said. _Wake the fuck up_, it said. "Yeah. Sounds good," Roxas lied.

--

It was exactly the way you'd expect a college party to be, complete with a shitty keg of beer, red Solo cups, and various patches of vomit on the floor. Destruction of property was at a minimum, and all the rooms were, at this point, thankfully copulation free. Most of the partiers congregated around Sora's pool, a drunken whirl of splashing and near nakedness. Roxas, nursing a cup of beer, sat in the corner of the backyard, a splatter of birthday gifts littered around him like a gaudy, sparkling court. Sora had convinced him to put the pot smoking on hold, but his failing grip on reality was nevertheless slipping, so much water through his hands. Riku, dripping and glorious, had hardly looked him in the eye for nearly a full week now. Roxas had forsaken speaking almost entirely, given instead to long hours watching porn and jacking off until his dick was sore, aching in his hands like he'd been fucking sandpaper.

Tidus had been one of the first to show up, hefting a case of beer through Sora's from door and reeking of boy and spit. _That_, Roxas had thought, noting the angle of Tidus' cargos on his hips, _is an exciting prospect_. But getting laid seemed to be the last thing on Tidus' mind, forgoing foreplay for getting shit-faced and nearly losing his stomach in the pool. Kairi, dancing in the water to the music Sora had pounding out of a system he'd rigged to his laptop, had done little else than remind Roxas of Axel every time she had the opportunity.

"Have you guys been keeping in touch?" Her lips glittered in the moonlight and Roxas bet they tasted like candy.

"Yeah," Roxas said with a shrug, busying his mouth with his beer to save him from having to improvise a lie.

"You two are _so_ cute together," Kairi went on, smiling indulgently. "Hayner was bitching about it all over the house, but we're all really, really happy for you." Happy for him. Everyone so happy for him. He wondered if Axel even remembered his name. His face.

Sometimes he woke up and tasted Axel in his mouth, deep and warm. That split second of post-slumber haze was quickly becoming his favorite part of every day.

"Come in the pool!" Sora shouted over to him, splashing up a halo. Roxas shook his head minutely, swallowing down more beer. "Miserable" wasn't quite the right word, but it wasn't far from the mark. There was an ice cream cake sitting in Sora's freezer, a frosty monstrosity in the shape of a reindeer that Sora had insisted on, whining to his mother as she packed her bags. It had been Sora's idea, a mini-vacation from the stress of having to deal with Sora in the hospital for the last couple months. His parents tried to mask their relief, but they weren't very good at it, trying to pretend they didn't know Sora would be throwing a party. They left with little fanfare, Sora's mother fixing him with a pointed stare before saying she really liked this vase or that painting, and could they please be civilized while they were gone. Yes, mother. Don't worry, mother.

The way Roxas saw it, as long as no one was getting hurt, it was okay. It didn't matter how much he smoked or how intensely he disregarded his body, as long as life went on, it was okay. Nevermind that it was more like killing something inside him, about destroying himself in any way available to him short of shooting himself in the head, short of jumping off his roof. It wasn't about having fun anymore; it was about forgetting every shred of knowledge he'd ever learned, about obliterating faces from his mind, forgetting grammar and logic, eating himself from the inside out. The best—worst?—part was that no one seemed to notice at all, the way he was crumbling away to ash. All the trouble he'd gone through to remind people that he was okay away at college, that he was strong enough, and now no one could tell when he was fucked, so fucked he didn't think he'd be able to pump his brakes in time. After awhile, it doesn't seem worth it. If you fuck up a little, why not fuck up a lot? What was the point anymore?

"There isn't one," he whispered, tossing his empty cup on the pool deck. There wasn't one, had never been one. Who had it right? The post-modernists? Life is absurd. There is nothing. There are people on a flat expanse of ever-imploding earth, and soon there would be nothing at all. Roxas had this in mind as they brought out his cake, twenty sparkling candles like miniature explosions catching the liquid in his eyes. All the people singing, the cake in Sora's hands, and he hardly knew any of them. Most of them were kids he'd known his entire life and couldn't call his friends. Riku's drug buddies, Sora's co-workers, a selection of neighbors and people he'd been in elementary school with. They sang so loud, like they meant it, like they loved him. Who, Roxas wondered, the fuck did they think they were kidding.

"Make a wish, Rox!" Sora beamed, lips pulled wide over a textbook smile. Sora, his Sora, his little prince.

Roxas lowered his head, stared quietly at his hands in his lap. _Him. Just him. I just want him_. He gathered the air into his lungs and blew, a steady stream of breath like singing the intricate descant of a song, the driving force of a swelling choir: breath, air, hope. There was assorted cheering as he blew all the candles out in one breath, but it was muffled by Riku's lips. How it happened, he'd never be able to explain. One second he was blowing out his candles, the next he had Riku in his hands, shoving his tongue past teeth. The moment stretched on indefinitely, slight reciprocation before Riku coiled back under his hands, pulling away. Roxas' eyes fluttered open, his mouth a small O of surprise. He felt himself look around, slow motion horror, and locked eyes with Sora. Hurt glinted in Sora's eyes before he deposited the cake in Kairi's hands and walked away, in through the double doors leading into his kitchen.

"You fucking _idiot_," Riku hissed, darting away after Sora.

He anticipated sheer terror, the way you'd expect to feel at the dawn of the apocalypse. Instead he felt an aimless, wandering nothing, the crowds of people dispersing, embarrassed, around him. Sifting through the gifts, Roxas pulled Riku's and Sora's from the bunch before picking his way over discarded red cups toward the door that led out of Sora's backyard and into the street. His car was in the driveway, but he was too drunk to remember where he'd put his keys—or his pride, his dignity, his sense of self, of loyalty, of anything—so he walked the mile and a half home, stopping to piss in someone's hydrangeas.

His mother was out, probably fucking some rich businessman she'd met in a bar as thanks for a cosmo or two. How strangely cyclical life was. Shoving a hand into the stuffing of the floppy eared dog, Roxas hauled out two pills, he didn't know what kind, and swallowed them, unwrapping Riku's gift. A cylindrical bottle of lube, Sora's favorite, and a gift card to some trendy, expensive place taped to the side. Sniffling, Roxas dug through his bags until he found the blue buttplug Riku had given him for Christmas, setting it on his bed next to the lube. Now that he thought about it, the pairing of these gifts had a very clear meaning: go fuck yourself. His face was wet and burning as he stripped off his clothes, shivering despite the August night. He unscrewed the cap of the lube, tore away the seal, and coated the buttplug the color of Sora's eyes, his eyes. He lowered himself on it easily, his abused body hardly protesting. _Okay, Riku. Okay_. Shoving another two pills in his mouth, Roxas ripped the wrapping paper from the large, strangely shaped gift Sora had given him, working his legs against the ground, his limp cock twitching between his legs. A kite, brilliantly colored was under the wrapping paper, capable looking, strong. Sora had given him a kite, a small sticky note pressed to it: _This Post-It good for one BJ. Love you! –Sora._ Roxas choked on a sob, legs trembling as he fucked himself on the edge of his bed. Another two pills, then another, then another, then another. Why not fuck up a lot? Why? Why not? What was the point? There was no point.

After a while his legs cramped, his dick only semi-hard, and it was difficult to stay awake, the world dizzy around him. He pulled the buttplug from under him, a wet pop of suction cracking in the silence. The pop replayed over and over, an infinite loop of his failure to even fuck himself properly. He tossed the toy, dripping with lube and blood or shit, on his backpack and curled on his bed with the remaining handful of pills. One by one Roxas chewed them up and swallowed, no longer tasting the bitter chalkiness, powdered chemicals into his bloodstream, into his heart, his head. The entire world tilted and he heard strains of conversation, laughter swoop into his consciousness and swing away. _No point. There's no point. Why not? Why? Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry sorry._ He remembered this little kid's craft project, a spinning dial you splattered with sticky paint until you had a dizzying swirl of colors that you could call art. He felt like he was stuck on one, spinning and spinning. They could call him art when they found him, stomach full of pastels, blue eyes wide, lifeless.

Where, Roxas wondered, was his life flashing before his eyes? This was what it felt like to die, it had to be, his stomach churning, his fingers down his throat as he heaved over the side of his bed. He didn't want to be doing that, didn't want to be trying to save himself. Where it came from, the fighting desire to live, he didn't know. The sweat poured off him, damp in his sheets, delirious, each heartbeat like rattling at the bars of a cage. _Let me out, let me the fuck out_. In the space of an hour he was unconscious, limp in his bed, heart fluttering weakly.

--

Waking up after an overdose is, if possible, even worse than the moments right before an overdose. What, your whole life is a massive fucking failure, and you can't even kill yourself right? What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? How did they even _make_ you? Roxas' life was a series of colossal disappointments and wrong turns, and now he couldn't even escape it. _Oh, fuck_, he thought, pulling open his crusted over eyes. It smelled like piss and shit and his mouth was dry like he'd been running a marathon through the Sahara, his muscles fuzzy and pliant as he tried stretching. His arm, it seemed, felt completely fine even if he pulled it the wrong way. He felt like rubber, like air. His bed was stiff with sweat and piss, smears of shit on his sheets from when he'd fucked himself. _Oh, fuck_. Stumbling around, Roxas found his cellphone in the corner of the room. According to the date, he'd been out for two days. _Does that qualify as a coma? Oh, fuck_. His mom, apparently, hadn't been home from her latest escapade. The tiny icon at the bottom of the display told him he had three new texts. From his mom: _Sry baby got tied up. Happy 20!!!_ From Sora: _?_ And finally, with a couple minutes to spare before it would've been belated, from Axel: _Happy 20th. Got you something._ Roxas fought down the urge to laugh hysterically and instead stripped his bed of sheets, taking them downstairs to the laundry. Like walking on a ship at sea, he kept swaying into things, his rubbery legs refusing to cooperate.

People make it out to be some grand event, waking up in an ambulance or on a hospital stretcher while they force feed you liquid charcoal to get the pills out of your body, where they hook you up to intravenous drugs set to counteract how badly you wanted not to be alive anymore. Not everyone dies, no, but not everyone has the circus parade resuscitation, the sobbing, worried parents and the empathetic physician. Some kids just wake up, alone as ever, and find that no one even noticed. Your pathetic attempt at death, your last gallant stand against injustice or indifference, gone the way of the wind: ignored, underwhelming. He hadn't taken enough, Roxas realized, stuffing his sheets into the washing machine. When overdosing, there's a certain amount that you need to take—more than enough to knock you out, but not enough to puke up. Get the amount right within, depending on the pill, two to five pills, and you're in the clear. In the ground. _Wonder if mom has any Xanax lying around_, he wondered idly, peeling away the pith from a banana. It was the first thing he'd eaten in around four days, his stomach protesting as he chewed. What would he do now? What the fuck _could_ he do now? Stumbling his way through his front door to raid the mailbox for potential birthday money from relatives—_Maybe I'll have enough to buy a gun_—Roxas promptly tripped over Sora, sprawling face first into his concrete driveway.

"There you are," Sora said darkly, an enormous kite sitting across his lap. "I've been looking for you."

Roxas wiped at the blood on his chin. The sight of it did something to his guts, grinding up something inside him. "I was—"

"Yeah, well," Sora said loudly, shrugging. "Figured we might as well test the kites out since you're going back to school on Sunday." Roxas could tell Sora was angry, the way he shrugged a lot and jostled his leg around like he was anxious. This was the part where he would stubbornly refuse to talk about what had happened. "I brought your car," Sora said, nodding toward the street.

_Tell him and get it over with. Say it. Say, "Sorry, Sora. I tried to kill myself." Say it._ "…Thanks."

They stood awkwardly in front of his door before Sora raised his eyebrows. "So… are you going to get dressed?"

"Oh," Roxas said, looking down at his briefs. Clearly his synapses were misfiring.

The ride to the beach was a quiet affair, Sora staring out the window with his arms crossed, legs bouncing against the floor mat. Roxas eyed the cars in the lanes next to him warily, wondering why he didn't feel the impulse to careen into them, going out in a blaze of gasoline and steel, Sora nothing more than a casualty, a victim in the war of all against all. It was like his death drive was malfunctioning, broken apart by a little bit of blood, unexpected and jarring, like the concept of bleeding at all had shocked him into mild retardation. Sora had to advise him on where to park, on how to get his kite in the air. Roxas was reminded of their first midnight drive to the beach, ending up driving down the promenade and nearly mowing down the ambling throngs of vagabonds, wares packed up for the night. Disgruntled and nervous, they'd ended up driving twenty miles north, out of the way, to find a spot on the side of the road. They'd listened to the surf and talked until sunrise about never living anywhere else but there, never anywhere else.

They were staring up, yards of twine pulled taut against their kites, edges ruffling in the light ocean breeze. "You haven't been eating," Sora said conversationally, not taking his eyes from his kite, a deep blue like the color of the sea, neon accents a decorative plumage.

"Yeah," Roxas said, ducking under Sora's kite line, unraveling his line from around the other. It was oddly calming. Simple, straightforward. They'd done this in high school, skipped senior year to drink Coronas and fly kites, Sora lifting limes from the over-priced market closest to the beach, tearing them apart with their fingers and squeezing them into the necks of their bottles, sucking away until they were buzzed and covered in sand, kite lines tied to their ankles as they laid back on the sand trading touches and whispers.

Sora pressed a kiss to his cheekbone, thumbed the scrape on Roxas' chin from where he'd face-planted onto his driveway. "Makes you look sick. You want to get some tacos?"

Roxas' stomach felt like it had been removed. "If you want." Seventeen, playing in the sand like they were five. Back before Riku, before Roxas fucked it all up by deciding to go away to school, before, before, before. He would've missed this, at least. This, spending endless hours with Sora, removed completely from thought and pain, having found solace in the one safe place in the entire world, the one haven. Fish tacos and smoothies and, if they were down enough, the towering ice cream cones from behind the carousel on the pier, thousands of calories of creamy concoctions that dripped over their fingers. His stomach felt hard and disgusting after they ate, Roxas putting away three fish tacos to satisfy Sora before he doubled over, groaning about distension and possible rupture.

"Crybaby" Sora said. They were flying their kites again, burping up fish tacos and wondering where they could score some Coronas. Roxas felt remarkably untroubled, thinking of nothing other than the way his kite dipped in the air, how it looked like it was running an unwinnable race, bobbing up and down in a repeating loop.

"I'm so sorry, Sora. I'm—really, I'm so—"

"Don't apologize." Sora's hand on the back of his neck, brushing lightly. Roxas turned his face, met Sora's lips. It was soft, imploring, non-sexual until Sora slid his hand down from Roxas' neck, across his back, settling it on his hip and pressing their bodies closer together. "There," Sora said, nodding toward an outcropping of rocks farther down the beach. "The other part of your birthday present." They made to walk down the beach, but found that their kite lines had crossed while they weren't paying attention, the twine looped and tangled together hopelessly. Sora fiddled unsuccessfully with the lines before shrugging and gnawing them apart, biting away at the tangled bits. Both their lines were shortened considerably, Sora spitting twine, and they reeled them in quickly, securing them under piles of sand before Sora undid Roxas' shorts and sucked him into his mouth.

_This_, Roxas understood, head tossed back against rough rock, _is about lust._ He ran his finger's through Sora's hair, thick tufts perfect for gripping, for holding the back Sora's head and pushing down and lifting up, fucking his reddened, wet mouth. He didn't think about it being Sora, didn't think about it being his best-friend; it was a mouth, his dick was hard, so why not. Why not fuck up a lot. Sora swallowed as Roxas came down his throat, stroking the curve of Sora's eyebrows while he pumped lightly, once, twice, before falling back against the rock, sweating.

It wasn't until later, stripping down to their skin in his room, Sora staring at the lube with wry comprehension on his face, that Roxas thought to ask.

"You broke up with him again, didn't you." His palms smoothed against the expanse of Sora's back, softened shoulder blades, lean muscle. Sora nodded, popped open the lid of the lube and squeezed an amount into his hand, bent down to coat Roxas' dick. The remarkable nothing that sat over Roxas, an aura of apathy, did wonders for his guilt complex as he laid on his back, Sora lowering himself onto Roxas' glistening dick. It had usually been the inverse, laying in this exact same spot, jacking off to the image of Sora riding Riku, that determined, open-mouthed eroticism coloring his features while they swapped sweat, spit, whispers. He hadn't thought about fucking Sora before, not in any articulated way, but it was nice, Sora stuffing his fingers into Roxas' mouth and rocking against him. It was nothing as contrived as love-making, nothing saccharine and weepy. They fucked, hard and hot, and Sora's come splattering onto his chest sounded like what Roxas imagined bludgeoning someone must sound like: a wet smack, anti-climactic, vaguely nauseating.

--

Roxas dreamed of nothing, woke up and felt more of the same. Nothingness and Sora's come crusted on his chest, the pillow damp under Sora's mouth where he drooled lightly into the shape of, if Roxas turned his head slightly, a fish. Curious, Roxas palmed Sora's dick, felt it limp with sleep and devoid of lust. He remembered those sticky hands they'd traded Chuck E. Cheese tickets in for, reams of candy pink tickets spit out from standard fare arcade games, beating smiling rats on the head with oversized foam mallets, trapping the cycling flashing light between neon arches, skee-ball. A sticky hand that had lost its stickiness, that's what Sora's dick felt like. Sora giggled then, and Roxas looked up, met his best-friend's eyes.

"Hi," Sora said, small amused smile pulling at his lips.

"Hey," Roxas said. This was the part where Sora wouldn't say anything about what had happened the night before, where they pretended they weren't just skin under the top sheet, where Roxas didn't have his hand over Sora's dick.

"Lose something?" Sora asked, re-positioning his face closer to Roxas' on the pillow.

"Probably," Roxas admitted, pulling his hand back. "Sorry." He felt his cheeks flame and Sora laughed, pulling his palm close and licking the length of it, tickling Roxas' life line with his tongue.

They were in the middle of breakfast, a bowl of marshmallows and chocolate chips, when the doorbell rang. Popping a marshmallow in his mouth, Roxas dashed over to answer the door. He felt the puffed mass lodge in his throat when he saw who was on the other side.

"Please," Riku said, shadows under his eyes. His entire left arm was a bruise. "Sora—I know he's here, I—"

"What the _fuck_, Riku," Sora said, darting around Roxas and taking Riku into his arms.

Riku, slumping and pale, looked more dead than alive. "I couldn't stand it. I had a l-little too much, and I—"

"What the fuck, Riku," Sora said again, burying his face into the older boy's neck.

"I passed out. The needle was still in my arm when I woke up. My fingers are still blue, and I—"

Roxas tuned the rest out, backing away from the door and returning to his kitchen where he sucked on another marshmallow, tonguing it against the roof of his mouth. He'd have to leave for school tomorrow. He'd fucked two people, had sucked cock more times than he could count, had overdosed and told no one, and now he suspected he'd killed off his soul, assuming souls existed. Is that why he didn't give a shit that Riku could've died? _Probably. Probably why I don't care that I fucked my best-friend, that my mom's missing, that my asshole is the size of a fucking personal pan pizza._ Swallowing the sticky mass in his mouth, Roxas eyed his mother's kitchen knives, stainless steel with fitted handles protruding out of a fancy wooden block near the stove. _I could stab myself, I guess. Right in the chest. Cause a scene, send Sora to pieces. They're probably out there sucking face._ It would be poetic almost, romantic, bleeding out over their makeshift breakfast while Sora tugged Riku upstairs and out of his pants, licked the whole of his bruising arm and fucked him while Roxas bled to death in his kitchen. Right out of a fucking movie.

Roxas pulled out a steak knife and examined the edge closely, serrated curves winking prettily under the kitchen lights. _Nah. You don't have the balls, do you. You'd stab yourself in the ribcage and cry like a pussy in the OR while they pull it out and stitch you up, medicate you for a couple weeks. Then you'll be dropped from your classes, numbed out like a zombie. And Axel…_ Axel, his happy, promised Axel who'd sent him a grand total of two texts and one call over the entire summer. Sure, conversation was a two way street, but what the fuck. His entire life, a colossal failure, a cosmic joke where he was the punch line, doomed to doom, to wallow in his own incompetencies. The Midas touch, except completely _fucked_. Roxas sighed and slid the knife back into the wooden block, tossing a couple chocolate chips in his mouth. What in the fuck, he wondered, would he do now.


	15. Chapter 15: Manners

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: Please excuse the crazy. Yes, I deleted it all like the bitch I am. If you'd like to, favorite and alert again. I saved all my favorite reviews because I'm egotistical (they're the wallpaper inside my head), so all your lovely words exist somewhere, no worries. I'll put up the rest of this story and new fic on this account, but everything old, including _How To Disappear Completely_, _Fortunate Son_, and all the fanart I've received, can now be found on Versace Frolic livejournal, link on the profile.

Anyway. Damn, do I suck at updating or what? If I ever mysteriously disappear for more than six months, any of one you can feel free to take up my reins and continue on. Hell, you can even take full credit. Tell the world I didn't exist, that it was you all along. You have my full blessing.

--

**Chapter 15: Manners**

The sky is overcast in the memory, early morning dusty, the sun on its ascent. He's never been to Sea World, and the stroller is shaped like a dolphin, pushed by his father, headed nowhere that he can remember. He was a quiet kid, eyes wide and curious. Roxas wonders if that's how other kids remember their pasts, third-person like watching a film, and he thinks that can't be right. If it's his memory, then he shouldn't be able to see the stroller, shouldn't be able to see his dad pushing him, two years old and achingly vulnerable, toward some wide world. He doesn't remember anything else about the visit, just sitting in a gray dolphin, going to see whales and sharks and other things that swim, bigger than he'll ever be.

--

In three years he still managed to forget the tar muddled ocean air, the assault light but persistent as he walked down the path toward the upperclassmen dorms. Faint déjà vu, like he'd been there briefly a thousand years ago, and how had he ever forgotten that one important thing, gulls crying avian outrage against the clear, bright sky. September like June, like summer and marching into the student center like he'd done a million times, only through a fog of disuse, like it was someone else who went to school at Kingdom, someone else, blonde and slight and given to bouts of hoodie-shrouded sitting and staring, Parliament in hand. He hadn't smoked in a couple days, and he felt the memory against his fingers as he walked up to the counter and asked for the key to his new dorm room.

Pleased about his new second floor abode, Roxas slid the key into the door and twisted, shoulder pressing into the room as he shifted two of his three bags around, the smell of someone cooking popcorn in the dorm kitchen down the hall. Roxas was already depositing his bags at the foot of the lofted bed on the left of the room, barren and impersonal, before he realized the other side of the room was fully occupied, heavy with the hands of another person. Roxas took one look at the piles of History books heaped underneath the bed before his blood stilled in his body. _Wait._ It was of course possible that Zexion had taken a sudden interest in the catacombs of Paris, had given into a burning desire to know more about Mayan temples, but the mini-fridge in the corner—the one Roxas pulled open with shaking, marionette hands—filled with bottles of water, that was not possible.

Roxas swallowed, mouth strangely parched. "Shit."

He saw himself move, third-person slow-motion, toward his bed, hand grabbing at his keys before turning toward the door. _I'll just… there's some mistake. Zexion is my roommate. Zexion, not_—the thought process ended abruptly as he hauled open the door and came face to face with Axel, blazing with the force of a god or the sun.

"Hey, roomie." The redhead smiled, smirked almost, maddeningly.

"Hi," Roxas said, fingertips prickling. "Excuse me." Side-stepping Axel, it became very important that Roxas be outside, far, far away from any redheaded suns or gods. Fumbling for his cell, Roxas questioned how this level of cruelty was even possible. _Do you hate me, God? Is the universe out to get me? Was I an asshole in my past life? Is this divine retribution for being a mass murderer?_ Roxas was halfway through a disgruntled text to his would be roommate when a message from the devil himself came through:

_LOLZ PWNT!_

Roxas felt very strongly that, should Zexion ever show his face again, Roxas would tear it clean from his body. Firing off a text mostly full of swear words and threats, Roxas shouldered his way into the student center, slamming his phone down unceremoniously on the counter, a deer-eyed sophomore, neon purple pen hanging from the corner of her mouth, staring at him in terror.

"I'm sorry, but student center outlines say that no roommate requests may be filed for—" the nervous girl began chattering, gesticulating wildly at the all caps sign on pastel pink posterboard behind her, before Roxas cut her off.

"There's been some mistake," he said, calm as you please. He had manners. He knew to ask for things nicely.

"I'm sorry, but the student center outlines say that—"

"FUCK YOUR FUCKING STUDENT CENTER!" Roxas thundered, picking up his phone and slamming it down again. The student center girl squeaked. Sometimes manners just didn't get the job done. "You don't understand. My roommate, he's…. disturbed. He's a pedophile and a psychopath. And he smells and looks like a molester. Please, there must be something you can do."

"Student card," the girl said quietly, trembling hand extended. Roxas eyed his abused cellphone as the girl pulled up his database entry, daring Zexion to say something, just one fucking thing. "E-excuse me?" the girl asked, tapping the counter with a perfectly manicured, French-tipped hand. "Are you sure you were in the right room? According to the roommate assignment questionnaire, you're matched with a roommate 89% compatible. Your next compatibility is a 73%, and your last roommate compatibility was a 62%."

Roxas stared unbecomingly, fragile brain trying to formulate some valid excuse, a concrete reason why Axel was the last person on earth he should be roommates with. "Please don't make me," he whispered, shoulders dropping. "I'll kill myself."

The girl behind the counter was suddenly blank, mechanical. "You can file a roommate request after 48 hours. I'll make sure to take note of your complaint. Can I get you anything else? A laundry card?"

Roxas turned away, restrained the urge to flip the girl off. _48 hours. That's not so bad, is it? I have class at ten in the morning tomorrow. If I go to sleep now and don't wake up until nine, I won't even have to see his face. And then I'll just come back really late tomorrow, and he'll be asleep. Isn't the library open until eleven? Yeah. 48 hours. No problem. No problem._ Opening the door to his room, Roxas' eyes slid almost immediately to Axel, sitting on his bed clutching what looked to be a stuffed animal.

"I imagined it working out differently in my head," Axel said, setting the stuffed animal—what Roxas thought looked like a misshapen bear—carefully on the bed next to him. He sounded nervous.

"Oh." Roxas said, leaning up against the door, in prime position to make a dash for it if Axel tried anything. _Why are you torturing me? Do you hate me that much?_

Axel continued to stare at Roxas until, as if he hadn't realized he was doing it, he coughed and averted his eyes. Roxas noticed with a slight pang of horror that it seemed like Axel was on the verge of tears. "Anyway," the redhead said, pushing himself up of his bed, stuffed animal in hand. "I'll let you get to it. Lots of unpacking," he said vaguely, not looking at Roxas at all. Placing the stuffed animal on Roxas' bed, Axel said, "This is for you." As he walked by Roxas to the door, what he said next was so low that Roxas barely heard it. "Sorry I almost missed your birthday." The door opened and closed behind Roxas, followed by the opening and closing of the door leading to the outer stairs, the soft thunk of Axel's shoes as he descended.

Roxas released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, went over to grab at the stuffed animal. Even on the tips of his toes, he couldn't quite reach the top of his lofted bed, reduced to jumping and swatting to no avail. Defeated, Roxas toed off his shoes and scaled the side of the bed, wooden slats like stepping on the spines of books. Shoving himself in the corner, Roxas examined the stuffed animal, black and white fur vaguely waffle-y, as if it'd been left in a press. As far as he could tell, it was some sort of panda, large eyes and sad panda mouth. _Maybe he's trying to tell me something. I don't wear guyliner, though?_ Stroking absently at the fur, Roxas wondered if maybe he was being an asshole. Maybe Axel wasn't a phone call kind of guy? Maybe not a texter? _That's not true. He texted that Cloud guy all the time_. Unsettled, Roxas crushed the panda to his chest and closed his eyes, determined to sleep through the night, bags still packed, bed bare.

--

Of course, "sleep through the night" translated roughly to "jolting awake as soon as Axel got in," the other boy trailing ocean air in the door with him. Peering with one eye over the edge of the bed, Roxas watched Axel stand in front of the door, unmoving in the dark, head angled up toward Roxas' bed. Axel flinched as Roxas' cell beeped, a waiting text alert. _Probably Sora_. Moving toward his bed in the dark, Roxas watched as Axel sat, lined his elbows up with his knees and buried his face in his hands. The shape he made in the dark, shadows and the hint of light, was appealing on a primal level, Roxas feeling the twist of want, ravenous though neglected, right in the pit of his stomach.

"Thanks," he rasped suddenly, not conscious of the desire to speak.

Axel looked up slowly, rubbed at his face. He said something unintelligible before he cleared his throat and tried again. "Sorry."

"Is it a panda?"

Axel made a positive noise, laughed weakly. "Emo panda."

"He's nice." Battling the awkward silence, Roxas asked, "Is this the gift?"

Axel sat quietly, hesitating. "Can you come down here?"

"I think I should stay up here," Roxas whispered, blinking away, not trusting his throat to do what he wanted.

Axel exhaled loudly, ran his hands though his hair and went to flick on the lights. "Actually, I got you this." Rifling through the drawers of his university issued desk, Axel produced a palm-sized statuette. Holding it up to Roxas, Axel smiled wryly. "I made it for you."

Roxas, careful not to let his fingers touch Axel's, picked up the statuette. _What_. "You—You made me a Virgin Mary?"

"It was that or an ashtray. Didn't want to encourage the habit." Axel fidgeted, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Thus emo panda."

"Virgin Mary?" Roxas asked again.

"Yeah," Axel said, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

"_Virgin. Mary?_"

"Shhh," Axel said, embarrassed smile breaking on his face. Roxas hadn't been mistaken earlier; Axel really _did_ look faintly godlike. The summer had been good to him. His cheeks looked fuller, skin looked healthy. He was glowing, almost. Radiant. Roxas swallowed thickly.

"How was your summer?"

"Terrible," Axel said, meeting Roxas' eyes. "Really terrible."

"Mine, too," Roxas whispered, horrified at the pathetic voice that came out of him. What was this? Daytime drama?

"Want to come down and talk about it?" Roxas shook his head, tears sliding out from beneath his closed eyes. "Okay, no pressure. Maybe tomorrow," Axel said quietly, heading over to flick the lights off.

Roxas rolled over toward the wall, covered his face with the panda, sunk all his pathetic tears into its soft fur. _Just go away. Just go away, forget my name. Pretend I don't exist._ Roxas listened for the even, measured breathing of Axel asleep. It never came.

--

The first week living with Axel was like living with a ghost. Roxas' plan to spend as much time away from the dorm as possible without actually sleeping on the beach was supplemented by what was either Axel's insane schedule or his mutual desire to also see as little of Roxas as possible. All of Roxas' four classes were thankfully redheaded smartass free. Running into Zexion in the English courtyard resulted in a bloodless squabble, Zexion hopping behind a hedge until Roxas stopped shouting.

"Surprises are wonderful gifts, you villain!"

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?!" Roxas shouted, professors peeking out their windows to observe the scene. "I'LL RIP YOUR BALLS OFF."

"He's the Romeo to your Juliet! Stop being a crackhead and do the nasty dance with him!"

"I AM A BOY!"

"Duly noted. People are staring, did you know? There. And there." Zexion pointed at the eight floors of the English building. "Oh, look, there's one of my professors. I DON'T KNOW HIM," Zexion said loudly, pointing at Roxas.

It ended well enough, Zexion promising Roxas amnesty at Little Vista should a murderous rampage overcome him and drive him to dump Axel's body in the ocean. Roxas was relieved to hear that it had been entirely Zexion's idea after he was offered reduced rent to room with Pence—"Who is strangely gifted at frying things. Fried bananas, fried Oreos, fried fries. I've gotten fat, can you tell?"—that Axel had even been reluctant to accept the offer.

"I told him that if you roomed with someone you didn't know, you'd turn into a hermit since I've thus far been your culture coordinator."

"You don't coordinate my culture. You coordinate my corruption."

"Bull_shit_, dear Roxas. You are a sick fuck all on your own. I merely provide the party favors. Anyway, he agreed to fill my vacancy." Zexion looked at Roxas pointedly. "So you fucked, right?"

"Gross, no." Roxas said, flushing.

"Are you… lying?" Zexion asked, trying to peer into Roxas' eyes.

"No, I hate that fucker."

"There it is! That good old Roxas Spirit™!"

"Fuck you."

"Good to see some things never change. Care for a blunt?"

Rage blackouts aside, Roxas was pretty sure Axel was just particularly adept at hiding his tracks; not even a telling red pube clogging the shower drain betrayed Axel's presence. Maybe he didn't shower? This was why, after a week straight of Axel's really successful disappearing act, Roxas was genuinely surprised to wake up and find Axel tapping away on his laptop, looking enticing in some hipster V-neck that gave Roxas painfully clear images of licking at his collarbones.

"Hi," Roxas said weakly, pulling the panda away from his face. Every night the stuffed animal seemed to gravitate toward his mouth, Roxas waking up suffocating on more than one occasion.

"Morning," Axel said, eyes flicking up to Roxas' perch.

"Busy week?"

"Sure," Axel said, eyes on his screen. Roxas thought he could see porn reflected in his eyes. _Pervert, no you don't_. "And I wanted to give you some space."

"You don't need to do that," Roxas blurted, clutching the panda tighter to his chest.

"Okay," Axel said, not missing a beat. "You want brunch? I'm starving."

As it turned out, Roxas realized he'd probably never seen Axel actually eat, sneaking fascinated glances at the boy across from him as Axel demolished three bowls of cereal and a Belgian waffle topped with an assortment of fruit. Roxas didn't know if there was anything he'd rather watch other than Axel cut up strawberries, pausing every now and again to pop one in his mouth before dotting the top of his waffle with them.

"Not hungry?" Axel asked around a mouth full of food, eyeing Roxas' mostly untouched slice of melon.

"Not really," Roxas said, pushing the melon around on his place. "Is that waffle good?"

"The best waffle I've ever eaten," Axel said, slurping as a thin stream of strawberry juice dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Roxas suspected anyone else might find Axel's breakfasting obscene, like the boy had been lost in the wilderness sucking turtle eggs for months. But for Roxas, Axel's famished attack was exciting.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you look good." _You are a true idiot. Really._ _One day you'll open your mouth and something insane won't come out, and the world will probably explode._ "I mean… healthy. I mean good. You look great."

Axel lowered the knife and fork in his hands, crossing them neatly at the top of his plate. "Is it _possible_ to take that the wrong way?" Axel looked carefully into Roxas' eyes, finished chewing. "Thanks. Means a lot. Coming from you, anyway."

"Oh, sorry, I meant that you look like you've been hit by a bus. Don't they feed you where you come from?"

There was this look Axel kept giving him, funny smile quiet on his mouth, just in the corner. _Is he humoring me? Mocking me? I don't get it_. "You'd be surprised."

"But you cook!" Roxas said, reaching his fork almost unconsciously across the table, stabbing at a neatly cut segment of waffle, and sticking his mouth around the enormous bite. "I know. I've eaten it."

"Yeah, well," Axel said, not elaborating.

Roxas felt a fuzzy joy as Axel chauffeured his plate around the dining commons, ladling batter on a waffle iron for him, topping it with fruit, cutting strawberries for him. The heady delight threatened to swallow him entirely, senses reeling. _What am I feeling? Giddy? Reckless? Stupid?_ "Sooo good," Roxas said, mouth full.

"You have—" Axel said, reaching across the table and thumbing at whipped cream at the corner of Roxas' mouth.

For whatever reason, Roxas found the gesture nothing short of devastating. Dropping his fork, throat closing up, he felt those same pathetic—_What is _wrong_ with you?_—tears spring to his eyes. "'M sorry," Roxas said around a bite of waffle, his words muffled. " 'M sush anassole."

Axel snorted into his water, Roxas trying his best to glare. "No, no, I'm sure it'll feel a lot better when your mouth isn't full."

"Dun mae me hur you," Roxas said, waving his fork threateningly.

Despite Roxas' impromptu waterworks, Axel looked terribly pleased with himself, beaming as they continued to eat. The effect was startling, Roxas having to actively remind himself to finish the waffle and not just stare in near awe at how _alive_ Axel looked.

Detour to the beach after brunch, Roxas chasing a group of seagulls for a quarter mile, feeling like his chest was alight, and the bizarre high finally started to settle, the two walking companionably down the stretch of the beach, farther than either had ever ventured. The coastline was different here—buffed rock just under the sand, eroded bluffs beaten down after hundreds of years of gentle insistence by the tide, small pools full of starfish and strange looking sea anemones. Just offshore, Roxas' pirate ship oil rig rose up out of the ocean, industrial beauty hazy with distance. He didn't realize he'd stopped, staring at the marred horizon, until he felt arms slip under his, hands resting over his hips. Axel's chin tucked into the side of his neck and all the hair on Roxas' arms stood up.

"I've been wanting to do this for seven straight days," Axel said, voice against his ear, carried away by the wind. Always so windy on the beach, stinging bits of sand scraping their cheeks. Always so cold, hair blown into eyes and wet breath, sticky everywhere.

Roxas leaned back into the touch, wondered if he'd ever feel proper emotions again. Was it happiness he was feeling? Or was it nothing? "You called me once. The whole summer, just once." His voice sounded more hurt than he felt, the edges of anger lingering. _But I don't feel hurt anymore, do I? Do I feel anything? I missed you, Axel. I needed you_.

"First day back, right?" Axel sounded nervous, Roxas feeling him swallow, hearing the muscles in his throat working. "I would've called you every day. Hell, I would've gone out to see you."

"But?" Roxas wished more than anything that the accusation, the angry tilt, would leave his voice. _Why are you doing this to him? I don't want to be doing this. Stop. Stop doing this._

There was a lull in the conversation during which Roxas swore the breaking waves told him to turn around and press their mouths together, but when Axel spoke, a splinter ran through the silence. "I got locked up."

_Wait_. "What?" _Wait, wait wait._ Roxas felt his body go still, his chest quiet. The numb hollow where his heart should've been throbbed, began to spread. "_What?_"

"I… my mom and a couple friends I have back home. There was this fucking like… 'intervention' or some shit. They said I was killing myself, I needed food to live, blah fucking blah." Axel laughed mirthlessly, pressed Roxas closer against him, "You would've laughed. Should've seen the way they carted me off while I threw shit and basically tore my bedroom door off its hinges. When they told me I couldn't have my cell, I literally almost ran out of the place. They put me in restraints."

"Was it… was it prison?" Roxas thought that the numbness in his chest would eat him from the inside out. _Guilt, probably. You are such a total fucking asshole. You total fucking asshole. You didn't even… you couldn't. You're so…_

"No, crackhead. Eating disorder clinic. Bella Vita. No phones. You know, on your birthday? That text was the result of two months worth of good behavior, going to therapy, eating everything they put in front of me, not purging a fucking thing." Axel was shaking behind him, hands now fisted in Roxas' hoodie pockets.

"Eating—" Roxas said, sounding for all the world like a complete imbecile. "Eating disorder. Clinic. Eating disorder." All those times he saw Axel not eating, how he thought it was endearing, how Axel would take him out and order food that he never ate, not once, while he watched Roxas demolish his own food. "Oh my god, Axel."

"I thought I was gunna lose it a couple times, fucking painting that Virgin Mary in art therapy. I was off the shit, no cigs, hadn't had a drink in fuck knows how long. I tried to re-wire my brain, make it so painting and glazing that little statue for you could substitute for wanting a drink or a pill or something, _anything_. And there they were, making me fucking… fat and shit. I'd look into the mirror and see how fucking gross I looked, how you'd never want to touch me again." Axel sounded angry, furious. Angry, like the last thing in the world he wanted to do was cry, like the last thing in the world he wanted to be was weak. "I just wanted to hear your voice. That text was the best I could do. I'm so fucking sorry," Axel said, voice cracking roughly. "And then, no matter how full of their psychobabble bullshit they stuffed me with, it's like—when I saw you there, in the doorway on Sunday, and you looked at me like I was disgusting, like I was the last person on the fucking planet you wanted to see—I thought, 'Oh, shit. They were all wrong. You are a fat fucking pig and Roxas doesn't want you anymore.'"

"Oh my god, _no_. I didn't—"

"On Wednesday I thought about leaving school. Clearly I was in no condition to be out in society. I was going to drive down, check myself back in to Bella Vita. You know how many fucking anorexic bitches are in that shit hole? Hanging all over me like they thought I was hot shit because I had hip bones. But then," Axel laughed, a real laugh, and rubbed at his running nose. "But then I walked in one morning after crashing at Dem's, and you had that panda, the fucking emo panda, right on your face. And I figured, hey: you can't hate me that much if you're making out with my panda in your sleep."

Frowning, Roxas attempted to turn around. "I wasn't—"

"Listen, listen. I'm not expecting you to save my life or redeem me or be my savior or anything. All I know is what you've already done." Roxas felt a press of lips, wind chapped, against his neck. "You made me believe in things I didn't think I gave a shit about. I know how to hope." Another kiss, this one on his jaw. "I know how to give a shit about what I put in my body and what I don't." Axel turned Roxas against him, crushed the smaller boy into his chest and held tight, dropping kisses into ocean damp hair. "And even if I'm wrong about everything else, I know I'm right about loving you. I know I can do it. I'm good at it."

The sensation of freefalling, having just jumped out of a plane in the dark—knowing that you're falling at an impossible speed toward the earth, but not being able to see when—ripped Roxas open. "I didn't—I didn't know." His heart, previously immobile in his chest, stuttered to life, coughed weakly like an engine turning over with disuse. "I thought you…"

"What?" Axel asked in his ear, breath and life, a lick down his earlobe. "That I'd forgotten about you? You can go to the ends of the earth, Roxas. You're the first thing on my mind all the time." A kiss on his forehead, Axel smoothing his hair back.

"But I," Roxas began, tongue numb with intent. "I fucked up real bad this summer. I mean _really bad_."

"What, you like robbed a bank? Got a hooker pregnant?" Axel's hands at his waist, pressed him forward, friction against the fly of his jeans.

_More or less_, Roxas thought. What could he say? While Axel was off in a fucking eating disorder clinic, he was busy smoking his brains out and fucking his best friend's boyfriend? He was used goods? A black smear of what was once human? "I tried," Roxas swallowed, rubbing his nose against Axel's chest. "I mean, I didn't _try_, I just… I sorta..."

"What?" Axel asked again, lifting Roxas' chin up with a hand, thumb tracing the seam of his lips.

Roxas looked away, shrugged. "I overdosed. I was out for like two days." His shoulders shrugged again, feigned disinterest.

Serious, green eyes staring intently into his, Axel asked, "Was that my fault?"

"What? No. Don't be stupid. It's my own… I'm fucked up. I fucked up, I couldn't deal."

"_Roxas_," Axel said, dropping kisses on both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose.

"I'm sorry." _I'm an idiot. I couldn't even kill myself right._

Axel got down on the sand, pulled Roxas into his lap, his legs straddling Axel's waist. "You should be apologizing to yourself. Look at you," Axel said, taking Roxas' face into his hands. "Why would you do that to this gorgeous fucking face?" Fingers tracing the contours of his skin, Axel continued, "You're literally perfect. What is it? Something inside you telling you that you're worthless?"

_Yes_. "No," Roxas said, his voice sounding more offended than he felt.

"You're not worthless." Axel hands ran up and down his sides, stroked at his back. Roxas resisted the urge to grind down, to make this something it wasn't. Hands settling over his chest, Axel's voice grew very quiet.

"I just want the chance to love you. Can you wait for me? I can't promise it's going to work out, I can't promise anything."

"I'm here now," Roxas said, throat constricted. What should he say? Fuck yes, please, I'm ready, I'm waiting? Because despite the magnetism that sealed him perfectly against the other boy, how his entire body felt like it belonged against Axel's, there was too much shit in the way. Axel was far on the horizon, standing by the sun. Roxas had thousands of miles to go before being with Axel didn't end in another puddle of dramatics, before he learned the difference between what you love and what you want, between a good time and what was good, period. If anything, Axel was the one waiting for him. "I guess maybe I'm still in Mordor and you're all the way in the Shire."

Axel furrowed his brow, grin stretching out over his mouth. "Did you just make a _Lord of the Rings_ analogy?"

"Shut up," Roxas said, smiling away into Axel's shoulder.

"No, no, seriously. Are you calling me a fat, hairy, hobbit?" Axel's teasing voice pulled a weak strain of laughter from his throat. Roxas thought that it might have been his first laugh in days.

"Hobbits have big feet. You know what they say about big feet," Roxas said, feeling drugged.

"Holy shit, Rox! Hobbit innuendo!" Axel pressed a delighted kiss against Roxas' neck. "Not gunna lie, that's sorta hot… in a disturbed, geeky way." Axel laughed again, a rumble Roxas felt against his chest. "It'd be like a third leg."

Roxas wrinkled his nose, felt like shoving his tongue in Axel's mouth. _Take it easy. Don't fuck it up_. "Imagery overload."

"Oh, is it?" Axel asked, his face almost unbearably close. "TMI?"

"Just a little," Roxas said, inhaling, eyelids falling shut. He felt Axel's breath on his mouth, felt a swooping thrill in his stomach, but the kiss never came.

"So what's the deal with your friends?"

"What's the deal with those fucking guys at Qs?" Roxas opened his eyes, counted all the flecks of dark green in Axel's.

Axel sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, shrugged his shoulders. "What about them?" In the next instant, his mouth was warm against Roxas', tongue flicking patiently inside his mouth. "I apologize for every day but today." Another kiss, Axel's tongue running along the ridges at the top of his mouth. "I just want the same courtesy, okay?"

Courtesy. Taking someone else's heart into your hands and having to be responsible for so many more things than just its beating. There was Sora, there was Riku. There was the bottle of Ativan he'd lifted from his mom. There was devouring need to forget his own name, to forget it at the bottom of a bottle, of someone's dick, anyone's dick, buried in his ass or his mouth. Courtesy, manners. How to love, how to let yourself love.

"I'm trying," Roxas said. A thousand miles to Axel on the horizon, to hope. "I'll try harder."

--

Living with Axel proved remarkably easy, his sleep patterns and bathroom etiquette (Zexion had a penchant for pissing all over the seat in an intoxicated stupor, would leave his literature anthologies in convenient tripping distance by the dorm room door) complimented Roxas' nicely. He was never too loud to be annoying, but just loud enough to be entertaining, never snored, sneezed like his face was exploding (a real audible shout of a sneeze that was nevertheless obscenely endearing), did this retarded dance just after he woke up in the mornings, mumbling some melody Roxas didn't recognize. On more than one occasion, he'd gotten Roxas to dance along with him, something about starting the day off with a smile.

"Y'know, this is a leftover habit from when I used to wake up and take a hit. Turn on some Cure, dance around until I felt like facing the world."

"How deviant of you," Roxas said, feeling thoroughly ridiculous as he jumped around, ignoring the knocking on the ground coming from the floor below.

There were millions of little things Roxas began to notice, things he'd never previously had the opportunity to observe. It felt like Axel in front of the world was always on, always challenging and flirtatious. Axel behind closed doors was quiet, studied a lot, spent hours in front of his laptop, tapping away while Roxas half did his homework, half drank in the way Axel would chew on the bottom corner of his lip, the way he'd rub at his eyes when it got too late, like an unconscious compulsion that Roxas had to look away from to keep from laughing. After their little make out session on the beach, he'd been worried about tension or awkward moments. Yes, he liked Axel. Yes, he'd love to make out with him all the time. But at the same time, this was school. Roxas didn't want to play domesticated housewife or hang all over the guy. They hadn't even talked about anything in terms of labels, intent. It was what it was, and for now that seemed fine with Roxas. There were the random sleepy morning kisses, Axel sidling over to the edge of Roxas' lofted bed until the blonde leaned down, learned what Axel's morning breath tasted like (pleasant, actually, but the redhead was forever drinking water, kept the inside of his mouth like a Crest commercial). Roxas tried not to keep a running tally of affection, assuaging the inner demon that swore unless Axel kissed him X amount of times in Y amount of days, that the other boy clearly hated his sluttish guts.

On the whole it was… nice, maybe, the slight sexual charge that left Roxas feeling wired, breathless. If they brushed each other a little too closely as Axel left the bathroom and Roxas headed in, if Roxas accepted the proposition for dinner a little too quickly, if he noticed Axel staring up at him while he attempted yet another packet of Social Psych case studies—each little moment crackled briefly, a zap of comfortable, exciting tension that made the days slide easily into each other.

To date, he'd only had to force Axel to eat once, soon discovering that Axel was content to eat as long as Roxas ate with enthusiasm and crafted dyadic relationship scenarios out of dining common delicacies. He'd had exactly one piss poor phone conversation with Sora that ended with him punching the wall, Axel practically dragging him off his bed to survey his bleeding knuckles, confiscating his phone as Sora called back and called back.

"Give me my fucking phone," Roxas had demanded, slapped at Axel's hand, his cellphone held aloft.

His knuckles under Axel's scrutiny, the other boy shook his head. "You better fucking relax yourself before it goes out the window. Your little boyfriend can wait. You need to calm the fuck down."

"_Boyfriend_? That's it, motherfucker—" Roxas began, his threat ultimately useless as Axel sat on his chest until his hand was bandaged. It's not like he was _angry_ at Sora; it was just difficult, explaining Axel, encouraging Sora to stay on his meds, to not break up with Riku for the 42,349th time. It was almost like he'd forgotten how to speak the same language as his best friend, weary of the spiraling drag that took root in his chest every time he closed his eyes and talked, 9:01 p.m. and Sora going on about how bored he was, how he smoked some great kush, how work sucked his ass and when are you coming home, Roxas, when, I miss you Roxas, is your dick hard, my dick is hard, I love you, Roxas. He'd take the calls on the third floor study lounge, far away from any Axels with ears to hear just how difficult it was for Roxas to exercise some courtesy. How difficult it was for him to deny years of carelessness, years of lovely excess.

_Those days are gone_, Roxas would tell himself, shivering on the uncomfortable couch as Sora jacked off on the other end of the line, Roxas laughing at the straight porn Sora had a running commentary going for. He'd been waiting for the right time to bring up his attempt, but the opportunity never presented itself. He fell easily into the same spiral with Sora, hypnotic swirl dragging his mind out over a hundred miles, his spirit tethered at Sora's bedpost. It worried Roxas, made him wonder if there was nothing for it, doomed to be that final part of a two piece puzzle that comes with three pieces.

Despite his worries, Roxas kept all of it to himself, let his body remember how to smile, how to wear away the cravings for a person like learning how to quit smoking, grinding down against a stone until nothing's left. Despite his worries, Roxas finally started to understand a few, hard truths: it's one thing to believe in loyalty, convictions and sticking to your guns; it's another thing entirely to swear loyalty to something that only promised to be holy, a pretty picture on a rotting canvas.


	16. Chapter 16: Necessity

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: A bunch of new fanart from **currycannon**, **pouikee**, and **kareen** (all at deviantART), link to the fanart archive up on my profile (make sure you click to the end of the gallery where all the new pieces are). I am clearly not worthy of this degree of kindness. The cover song mentioned in the chapter can be downloaded on my profile via mediafire, an audio rip of the "Kids/Use Somebody" cover by YouTube user **pauloandjuli**, link also on the profile.

Second Sunday update in a row! Can you believe it? NEITHER CAN I! After this, there are officially only TWO CHAPTERS OF _A LESSER BEAUTY_ LEFT. I mean, theoretically. Unless something drastic happens, LB is going to 18. Almost time to bust out the bubbly.

--

**Chapter 16: Necessity**

What starts off as an afterthought, a tickle in the brain stem, tumbles its way downstream, over eternally eroding riverbeds, picking up speed until it swarms, purposeful now, through your consciousness. What starts off as a tickle ends up a repetitive, monotone pitch, rumbling in your eardrums, and you can't help but listen and listen to its quiet voice, telling you and telling you. What starts off as a tickle ends up a roar, tearing past your lips, an itch that needs to be scratched, a limb that needs removal. Where do thoughts come from? Nowhere. They just appear. They just appear, tearing a hole in the fabric of reality, logic, and Roxas' fragile framework, his burgeoning construct of new life from the ground up.

"Who the fuck _is_ he, even?" Sora growled on the other end of the line, Roxas imagining an endless hallway, all the doors slamming shut.

"I told you. He's my friend, my roommate or whatever." Roxas thought he might sell his soul for a cigarette, fingertips rubbing at the concrete slab beneath him. It was too early to be fighting, the sun cutting the quad at a sharp angle. In another five minutes, he'd have to either give in or give up, in desperate need of a shower before his 10 a.m. class.

"You're such a liar, Roxas. You _told_ me you liked him. I thought that emo guy was your roommate." Roxas didn't have a chance to respond before Sora plowed onward. "So, what, do you fuck every night? You sleep in the same bed?"

"_Actually_," Roxas said, angry now. "We're not even _together_. I haven't so much as—"

"Whatever, Roxas. We weren't together, either." A lighter flicked on the other end, a sharp scratch and a pause while Sora inhaled. "Weren't with Riku, either, were you."

"You're crossing the line, man, and you're totally blowing this out of proportion." All this from missing Sora's nightly 9:01 p.m. phone call, 85 minutes deep into a film he could only half understand, Axel chewing distractingly on the popcorn they'd been sharing. When Roxas finally got out of the theatre, cell threatening to explode with Sora's hundred million texts, it had been 11:13 p.m., hardly late enough to have a shit fit over. But logic had never been Sora's forte.

"I wouldn't say you selling me out for a twenty-four year old is 'out of proportion.'" Sora was half-yelling now, probably sitting by his pool, piece in hand. "So is he your best friend now? Do you tell him _all_ your secrets and all _my_ secrets?"

"Sora," Roxas tried, hand pressed to his eyes. A nightmare, a waking nightmare where his best friend hated his guts.

"No, really. I want to know, man. I want to know if you think he loves you even a fraction of an inch as much as I do. _No one_ is going to love you like I love you." Sora's voice had taken on an odd waver, a pitch or two above his normal speaking voice.

"It's all in your head, Sora," Roxas said. In reality, it just slipped out of his mouth, slipped past his careful walls, his defenses. Too late, he realized this was the wrong thing to say.

"FUCK YOU," Sora shouted into the phone, clicking the call off.

Roxas tried very hard not to throw his phone into the Pacific, had to forcibly close his mind off to the images of him hurling it as hard as he could over the bluffs, powering down under the oceanic assault. Seven weeks of steady decline, and he wondered when—_if_—he'd ever reach his limit. It had started out innocently enough, dropped hints here and there that Axel was nice, that there was this guy he'd been interested in, and no, he wasn't as good looking as Sora, all the while Sora sniping communists or smoking pot or jacking off. When Sora stopped jacking off and started asking pointed questions about "this Axel guy," Roxas worried that it would become a problem. By the fourth week, Sora was either unbearably bored with their conversations or would do little else than talk incessantly about Axel.

"I'm glad you found someone, Roxas. I hope you know what you're doing, man. If he hurts you, I swear, I'll fuck his shit up so bad." Which was hopeful, really, until it degenerated into: "If I ever see him, I'm going to punch him in the face." Sora's reaction was understandable given Roxas' quiet admission that, though they kissed with fair frequency and made stupid eyes at each other, Axel had never mentioned whether or not they were together or not together, and didn't together people hook up or at least suck each others' dicks. "He just wants in your pants. He's an asshole. I hate him." But it hadn't stopped there, either, Sora slowly expressing more and more dislike that, at first, Roxas had attributed to being protective. As it turned out, he'd been confused. Sora wasn't being protective; he was being fucking psychotically possessive, threatening all manner of insane things unless Roxas agreed to request a new roommate and/or possibly drop out and come home to him.

The good news was that Roxas, after years of being subjected to bouts of Sora's unpredictable behavior, had grown fairly accustomed to dealing with his bullshit. In fact, that's how Roxas defined love: you love whoever's bullshit you pick to deal with since you can't deal with everyone's bullshit. It had been working out pretty well for him—Sora with Riku, Sora with him, Sora on his dick, Sora on drugs, Sora in a full-blown schizophrenic break—so it was no wonder Roxas never stopped to question why he hadn't noticed Sora was really good at playing both ends against the middle. A master tactician, really, how he kept both Riku and him on short leashes. It didn't hurt to think about so long as Roxas didn't think about it at all, and certainly as long as the words "intentional" or "pre-meditated" or "manipulative sonofabitch" never came in to play.

It's just that… well, he was almost happy, wasn't he? First quarter of his senior year, his classes were enjoyable, he wasn't shooting heroin or tweaking or popping pills into oblivion. Axel kissed him, ate with him, made him laugh—things were finally going okay. _Why can't he be happy for me?_ Roxas wondered, going to flick a cigarette that wasn't there. _Look. I even quit smoking. He should be happy for me_. Sora was anything but happy, it seemed. The more Roxas looked at the situation, the more it seemed like Sora _wanted_ him to be miserable—because if Roxas was miserable, then he needed Sora. Needed him all the time like a benzodiazepine under the tongue, dissolved peace in less than thirty minutes. Sora soothed him, knew exactly where to press to make him collapse at his feet, a toy powered down. Needed Sora on the other end of a call at 9:01 p.m. every night because who else did he have? Who else had he ever had? No one, just Sora.

_It's not fair, Sora_, Roxas thought, climbing up the stairs to the second floor. _You got Riku. You got someone else._ Sora hadn't just gotten "someone" else; he'd gotten another First. The First person you call when something's wrong. The First person you tell a new secret to that you can't ever tell anyone. The First person you think of in the morning, in the shower, in bed. The First person you call when you have something to do and want company. Riku had never been just Sora's boyfriend, had replaced the space Roxas created when he went away to Kingdom. And Sora—smiling, brave, princely Sora—tried to stuff them both into the same place, gathered them into his hands and shoved them into the space where his heart was, where only one person fit.

Axel, sitting up in bed and rubbing at his eyes in that controlled, compulsive rub, was enough to wipe the scowl from Roxas' face. "I could hear you, y'know," Axel said around a yawn, arching attractively as his muscles pushed off the sleep. Roxas wasn't even an artist, but sometimes watching the other boy inspired easels and palettes in him, whole canvases of just Axel's skin, the depth of color there in the light of dawn, in the glare of the fluorescent hallway lights, under the wash of the moon. "Friends don't treat friends like shit."

Roxas replaced the scowl on his face, dropped his phone on the ground and kicked off his shoes. "Good thing we aren't friends, then." One would think how much he enjoyed knowing Axel would serve to counteract Roxas' never ending foot-in-mouth syndrome, but more often than not it proved quite the contrary, like even though Roxas had lowered his emotional defenses, his body (and mouth, in particular) hadn't gotten the memo yet.

"Ouch," Axel laughed, sliding from his bed and pulling his towel down from their shared rack. While a naked, showering Axel usually brought on an erection hard enough to hammer a log cabin together with, Roxas couldn't get Sora's latest "fuck you" out of his mind, a certain edge to it that spoke to something he'd been trying to deny for four of the last seven weeks.

--

The end of October had a terrible track record, the last weekend before Dead Week proving treacherous for new freshmen as the first big party of the year, Halloween, slid home; students dropping like flies in the library, buried under photocopied pages of texts they hadn't bothered to buy at the beginning of the quarter. Roxas, now a senior and used to the imaginary stress of first quarter exams, went through the motions with remarkable ease. He'd rip his hair out over the swiftly approaching future at a later date—preferably a later date when his best friend _didn't_ hate his guts. For now, Roxas was quite content to at least give off the semblance of attentiveness in his Sensation and Perception class, pen twirling idly as he imagined Axel's face when he handed over his pathetic birthday gift.

It hadn't been like he'd actually forgotten, otherwise occupied with attempting to keep himself from going to pieces, but October 22nd had shot forward on his cellphone calendar with alarming speed until one hazy day Roxas looked at his phone and felt his blood freeze up. Axel's 25th birthday. _25__th_. That was like a _quarter of a century_, and how the hell had he let it get all the way to October without thinking what to get him. Juggling his arguments with a certain schizophrenic brunette while prepping for the only thing he could really think to give Axel kept Roxas focused on the external for most of the month, kept him occupied, too busy to notice the ice melting down around him. What was once impenetrable, five miles of frigidity, was now thin enough to scatter the sunlight around him, a million facets orchestrated to get him to peel back his eyelids, to inhale.

Axel insisted on holding off on the gift-giving until the joint Halloween slash birthday party the kids at Little Vista were working on, a psychotic flaming hedgehog inked to life on the living room wall (Olette had to paint over a mysteriously appearing hairy dick scrawled nightly in front of the hedgehog's mouth), though he let Roxas treat him to a 1 a.m. game of cosmic bowling the day of—a pitcher of beer that he took innocuous gulps of in the black light, an obscene slice of pizza that he more smeared on Axel's face than shared with him—and a long, slow kiss in the hallway outside their door after they got back, Axel's tongue so deep in his mouth that Roxas could later taste the other boy at the back of his throat, climbing dizzily into his lofted bed as his stomach swooped away, cheeks aching with a grin he couldn't ditch. It was so easy to like Axel, the easiest thing in the world. This year he'd donned angelic garb with little prompting, all the while focused on how Axel would look at him when he saw the wings, meticulously pieced together snowy feathers that ran him about 45 bucks at a specialty store, gold tinted bronzer, and a gauzy, white tunic that Roxas figured made him look sorta heroic, if there was such a thing as heroic-looking twelve year olds. It would be worth it, Roxas decided, even if he got cooed and fawned over by the girls, if he could get Axel to look at him with stunned eyes, blossoming hunger. Imagining the look, caught slivers of it here and there before Axel looked away, could make Roxas come ten out of ten times, a statistically golden orgasmic flare that burned up all his blood.

Floating back to the dorms, high on possibility, Roxas absent-mindedly answered his phone as it rang, head already calling up images of Axel lying on his bed, phone pressed to his ear.

"Hey," Roxas said, smiling hard.

"What the fuck, man." _Shit. Not Axel._

"Hey, Riku." Clearly not a good sign since Riku called him a grand total of _never_ times in the four years he'd been away at Kingdom.

"What's your problem? You sell all your friends out now?" Riku's voice was especially venomous.

"This is between me and Sora. And, for the record, he's totally overreacting." Roxas stared at the laces of his shoes. So dirty, sodden from his walk through the grass.

"He said you're selling him out for your pedo friend. You're taking him for granted."

"No," Roxas insisted, the fire almost gone from his voice after eight weeks of being a repeating record, "I'm not. I'm not, I'm not. It's like both of you are living in an alternate fucking reality."

"So you aren't spending every waking moment with this Axel guy?" Roxas could almost hear Riku's eyebrows somewhere around the vicinity of his hairline, raised high and stubborn across his forehead.

"He's my _fucking roommate_. We're together all the time because we _live _together."

"And you don't hook up." Riku said it like he thought Roxas was full of shit, like no matter what he said, Riku wouldn't believe him.

"We just—we _kiss_, okay? I l—_like_ him." Roxas stopped, his dorm in sight, and crouched on the ground, buried his face in an arm. "Is that wrong? I want—I want to be with him. Why is that wrong?"

"Listen, man, we're just looking out for you. You _know_ you can't trust other people. Everyone else is going to fuck you over. You _know_ this."

_Because you've never fucked me over. You've never complicated my life and I've never let you do it. I've never been so confused about my own emotions that I felt like going to sleep in the middle of an intersection. _"That's not true," Roxas whispered, head spinning. There was a scrambling on the other end of the line, a slight struggle, and then Sora breathed through the static.

"Yes it is. Why are you doing this to me, Roxas? Don't you love me anymore?" Sora was crying, miserable sounding.

"You can't ask me to do this," Roxas whined, throat increasingly tight. Would he sit there in the middle of the pathway and cry? Would he finally go to pieces? "It's not _fair_, Sora. You—you want me to put you first. All the time, you want to be the only person I have." Roxas swallowed, felt his eyes burn. _Why today? Of all days, why today?_ "But I'm not your first, not anymore. I'm not the only person you have. You want me to put you first, but you won't do the same for me, and that's not fair. Not to me, not for you to feel like you have to."

"Oh, please," Sora shouted, miserable to angry in less than a second. "That is fucked up and that is _bullshit_. I've spent _years_ worried about you and worried about whether you're gunna kill yourself or not. All your fake bullshit about wanting to die, 'Oooh, Sora, I'm so sad, I hate my perfect life, I'm so lucky, I want to die, wah wah wah, pity me, pity me.' Who else is going to put up with that shit?"

"_Stop_," Roxas whispered, chest burning. "I'm allowed to have other friends."

"I'm not saying you can't have other friends. I'm saying why are you treating me like shit? Huh? When I've done _so much_ for you, Roxas. I love you _so much_."

"_Stop_," Roxas whispered again, one hand braced against the asphalt, poor comfort for the collapsing burn in his chest. "It's not _right_. We're… you're too attached. I'm too attached. We're going to kill each other like this." _We're best friends, not lovers._ "You love me, but you're not _in love_ with me. You can't tell me I have no right to… to…"

"Fuck you, man," Sora said, and Roxas could hear him shaking his head through the phone. "Fuck you for this. We're done. You tell me that I don't love you? We're fucking done."

"Sora, that's not what I'm saying." An emptiness settled into Roxas' body. Eight steady weeks of having his soul ripped in two, and finally half had come loose, billowing out before him. If he could just catch it up again, everything would be fine. All he had to do was reach out, wind his fingers in it.

"You're like a fucking… _devil_, man. You're _evil_. You suck people's souls out. I gave you _everything_, and then you turn around and treat me like this."

"You're wrong," Roxas said. _You're wrong, Sora. I love you, but you can't ask me to sit at your heels forever, waiting for something that doesn't exist._ Defeat was heavy on his shoulders, but he'd been expecting this, love slowly battered away by the constant arguing, the constant doubt, the constant fear. Was he supposed to trade being Axel's whole world for being Sora's erstwhile plaything? Was he supposed to wear the title of Best Friend Forever above his head, carved into his chest, and sacrifice all that he was? _No. I won't._

"Whateverrrr," Sora said, dragging out the last consonant until it sounded arrogant, empty-headed like he had a million other things to do and Roxas was nothing more than a waste of time. "Fuck you, I can't believe I wasted my entire life loving you. Take care of yourself, and don't contact me again." Roxas could say nothing in response, mute with Sora's forced indifference, his facetious disdain. "What? Nothing to say? Yeah, bitch. Go run to your new best friend; see if he gives a shit. Whatever, I am so done. So fucking done."

And then there was silence, the call clicked off on Sora's end, Roxas sitting on the ground with his head to his knees, phone still pressed up against his ear.

--

Despite his best attempts at putting on a normal, non-devastated face, Roxas looked ashen, like utter shit as he opened the door to his dorm room. It took Axel all of five seconds to look up from his documentary on Machu Picchu before basically tossing his laptop aside and darting over to take Roxas into his arms.

"What happened?"

Roxas tried hard to shrug, knew that he wanted to save a little face. It was Axel's party, was Halloween. He wasn't going to be a buzzkill, goddammit, but the shrug never managed to lift off his shoulders. Instead, Roxas found his face buried in Axel's chest, lost in the sensation of Axel's fingertips rolling waves against his back. He wanted to crawl inside the other boy, drown out the rest of the world with the thrumming of blood, the vibrations of metabolism.

"Sora," Roxas said simply, swallowing and swallowing at the hard stone in his throat, the seed of a sea of fruit. _Pull it together. Pull it together. You owe it to him._

"You don't deserve his shit," Axel said fiercely, crushing Roxas to his chest. "You do nothing but worry about him and obsess over him. It's… fucked up."

"Funny," Roxas said, eyes closed tight against the fabric of Axel's shirt. "He said the same thing about himself. But you know what?" Roxas turned his head and pressed his ear up against Axel's chest, listened to his heartbeat. "I can't do it anymore. I've been deluding myself, thinking we were what we've always been, when really we were all so helplessly fucked we were tearing each other apart." Axel's hands, warm on his back, kept Roxas anchored. He wondered if he'd be this brave if he was alone, if he'd be this sane alone with a bottle of Ativan, with an empty freeway. _I'm right. It's okay, I'm right. I… Axel, I…_

"Do you want to skip tonight?" Axel, rubbing circles into his back, was making Roxas feel weak, thirsty.

"No way, no. We're going. It's your party. I even bought wings," he rushed, slurring his words in his haste.

"Wings?" Axel questioned, and Roxas was suddenly very aware of just how close they were, Axel's breath curling around his neck. In his shocked daze, Roxas hadn't noticed Axel was already dressed up for the party, all of his clothes either extra tight or one size too small, jeans shredded, a layer of bullet adorned belts, a tight leather jacket that looked worn though Roxas had never seen Axel wearing it. His hair, usually jutting out behind him like a burst of flame, razored out, stiff and straight like modified liberty spikes. The effect, sedated street punk, made Axel look positively feral, eyes acidic, gorgeous. _You want me to give up this? Never._

"You're already dressed," Roxas said stupidly, running a hand down one of the leather lapels.

Axel grinned, posed slightly. "You like? I'm like a lead singer or some shit."

"Really?" Roxas asked, allowing himself a small smile as he gathered the parts of his angel costume into a bag, wondering if he was going to look like a drag queen in it. He refused to let Sora take this from him, too. "Bang lots of groupies?"

"Nah," Axel said, watching Roxas move around the room. "I'm hard for my backup vocalist, though. He's so _hot_."

The intent in Axel's voice sucked up all of Roxas' air, and he hurried out into the bathroom to assemble himself. He tried to think light, empty thoughts, but the repetitive voice in his chest was on a repeating loop of increasing intensity: _let's get fucked up, let's get fucked up, let's get fucked up_. Rolling streaks of golden shimmer across his cheekbones, Roxas wondered if there was any other choice.

--

Getting "fucked up" amounted to taking a shot of the alcoholic beverage of choice for every girl that came up and touched his expensive wings or cooed over his golden skin. At some point in the night, a good hour after he found himself vomiting into the trashcan beside the backed up toilet, he'd been having a near rave experience in the Little Vista backyard undergrowth, Zexion, dressed as a vampire, pogoing along with him as whoever was DJing amped up the happy hardcore. Roxas was 85% sure Zexion was on some sort of amphetamine, about 60% sure that he'd declined the offer to also partake, but if his sweat-pouring body and euphoric bursts of hugging strangers was any indication, that number was probably more around 15%. All Roxas really knew was that he'd never felt better, that he'd never had this much fun, that everything would work out, and _damn_ where was Axel already because he was missing this awesome song.

160 beats per minute of hyperactive techno funneled straight into his head as Roxas made his way in from the backyard, unearthing Axel deep in the midst of a particularly rousing game of flip cup, a cheer of Roxas' name going up as he stumbled his way into the room. Axel, clearly the most drunk Roxas had ever seen him, slid easily over to Roxas despite being in the middle of a game.

"_Hey, where you been_?" Axel was all whispers in Roxas' ear, liquor and fruit on his breath, his hands sloppy on Roxas' hips.

"I'M HIGH!" Roxas shouted over the noise, flailing a hand around as if in explanation. _And drunk, and probably smell like vomitus maximus over here, fuck._ "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Roxas shouted, attempting to give Axel a kiss on the mouth but managing to get his neck instead, lapping away like a blind kitten. The world pinwheeled around them, Axel's hands petting the feathers of his wings. There was a jeer from one of the couches that sounded suspiciously like Hayner telling them to save it for the porn website, and Roxas detached himself from Axel's neck, licking his lips and reaching for a cup in Kairi's hand. The jungle juice she was drinking was practically fetid, but Roxas downed it anyway, smiling as Kairi complimented his tunic.

"_Wearing anything under there_?" Axel asked, again just breath in Roxas' ear, pawing at the front of his tunic. Roxas rolled his hips into the touch, had a fleeting thought of being able to taste the color purple, that Axel's sweat tasted purple, and he wanted to taste every inch of salted, dripping skin Axel could offer.

"I have something for you," Roxas said, head spinning. "It's… it's in the room." He was pretty sure he'd arrived with more than just the costume on his body, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what he'd done with his phone or his keys. In lieu of a response, Axel tugged Roxas toward the door, fingers wound tightly with his. Before Roxas made it fully through the door, vampire Zexion collided with his back, shoved a—"BANANA, ROXAS! BANANA! THIS SHIT IS B-A-N-A-N-A-S!"—condom in his hand.

Axel was mysteriously quiet on the walk back to the dorm, though Roxas did his best to talk about what probably amounted to eighty billion words a minute, increasingly nervous as they approached. _Oh, god. Is this it? Oh, god, oh, god._ He turned the banana-flavored condom over in his hand again and again, his other hand sweating against Axel's palm. Axel, clearly not as sober as he pretended to be, led them into exactly five bushes, at one point stopping so suddenly that Roxas bumped into the other boy and rebounded straight onto his ass, the impact causing an obscene giggle to tear out of him, one Roxas couldn't stifle for the rest of the walk back to the room, finally subsiding as Axel locked the door behind him and turned to face Roxas, swaying slightly.

Almost choking on the charged air, Roxas swatted unsuccessfully at his pillow until he beckoned Axel over and pointed upward. "Under there, I put it under there." Axel reached up easily to retrieve the silver-wrapped square, smiling lopsidedly at Roxas before tearing the paper away. "I—Demyx helped me record it. It's like… like a cover of two songs. I arranged it myself, though."

Axel stared intently at the case, opening it carefully and pulling the sleeve free to examine the note Roxas had written on the inside. The smile slowly quieted on Axel's face as he slid the CD into his laptop, listening intently as Roxas' mournful tenor filled the room, strains of broken longing against Demyx's skilled picking, precise upstrokes and just the right resounding acoustic tone. Each breath the recorded Roxas took was felt rather than heard, Roxas watching Axel's eyes dilate as his reworked pop songs took a somber, _beautiful_ turn. Roxas felt a pang as he wondered whether or not Riku had ever listened to the song Roxas had written for him, felt his heart ache, really ache, when he heard where Sora's harmony would lay under the melody, the memory of Sora's voice against his, his hands, his skin.

Axel closed his laptop after the song ended, looked at Roxas like he was the only person in the entire world. "Thank you," Axel said, voice reverent. The simplest form of gratitude, but sometimes still the most profound, Axel's hand at the base of his neck, kisses dropped on the tears rolling down Roxas' cheeks. Why it had to hurt, why it couldn't be easy, why it had to be difficult, why everything was so tangled—Roxas didn't know, didn't know anything other than knowing he was right, that Sora was wrong, and that it was okay. This, Axel's mouth working against his, was _okay_.

Pulling away, Roxas took an unfocused breath, had to pick a spot on the carpet to focus his eyes on, "Sorry it's so lame. I swear I give better presents. I'll make it up to you, I swear." Drunk speech, slurred all over the place, and Roxas wondered if normal people got drunk this way, too, conscious of how fucking retarded they were being.

"It's not lame," Axel said into his mouth, licking at his teeth. "But if you really insist on making something up to me, I have something I've been wanting to ask you for." Axel's eyes glinted wickedly and Roxas felt his stomach spiral.

_Oh, god, it is, it is, oh, god, banana condom, oh god._ "Oh, god," Roxas said, closing his eyes as his heart lurched painfully in his chest. _Want. Want want want._

"You can say no," Axel said, running his hands through Roxas' hair, pulling them away covered in golden specks of light. "_Hope you don't_," Axel whispered into his temple, licked under his jaw.

At this point Roxas was pretty sure Axel could've asked for the moon, and he would've jumped to catch it. "My answer is yes." _Yes yes yes, god, yes yes yes._ "Nn-don't care what it is. Yes." Roxas closed his eyes, felt a sway in his body that he went along with. "_Whatever you want, yes. Yes, please, yes._"

Axel's hands pulled him at the hips, directed him in a semi-circle until he was walking backwards toward Axel's bed, the redhead's tongue in his mouth, wet and sliding. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Roxas felt Axel's hands slide up and down his thighs, a torturous rub that called up claws under his skin. When Axel's hands slid up under his tunic, Roxas' breath caught, the wings on his back fluttering. This was it, the line in the sand. Roxas didn't know when they'd drawn it, but it was there, uncrossed. Taking a breath, Roxas braced himself against the bed, arms behind him, before he worked out the way to ask a question without panting, Axel palming his erection through his briefs.

"Do-do you have any lube?" Roxas drew a shuddering breath as Axel's fingers dipped beneath the band of his underwear, dipping back out as Axel licked a wet streak up the inside of his thigh. "I h-have lube. In there," Roxas pointed a shaking finger at a bag shoved under his desk.

Axel took a moment to peel Roxas' briefs down his legs, breath warm on his straining cock. "Don't think we'll need any," Axel said, smiling up at Roxas as his pre-come slicked down his twitching erection, Axel still stroking fire up to the crease of his thighs.

"You," Roxas said, brow furrowed. "I mean, we aren't—you don't—"

"The long awaited blowjob, aren't you excited?" Axel smirked.

_Do I _look_ excited?_ "Are you—I mean, _why_? It's _your_ birthday. I would—I would _love_ to s-suck—" Roxas fumbled.

"Roxas," Axel breathed, tonguing the head of his cock, the slide of warmth across the slit making Roxas inhale in a hiss. "There is literally nothing else I want." A swirl of tongue, Axel favoring the underside with a slow motion of his head. Roxas thought he might scream. "Is that okay with you?"

"_Yes_," Roxas whispered, head falling back as Axel took him to the back of his throat in one steady movement, felt Axel swallow, felt his tonsils, and thought he really might scream, not able to get enough air in his lungs. "Oh, god," Roxas said, arm tossed across his eyes. Watching would be too much, watching his cock slide in and out of Axel's mouth, the redhead's hands on his hips as he fucked his mouth with Roxas' cock. "Oh, god, oh god," Roxas' half articulated prayer. _Please, let him like me tomorrow. Please, let him like me for real. Please, let it not be weird. Please, oh, god, please._ As Roxas got closer, one of Axel's hands smoothing up across Roxas' chest—kneading his muscles, flicking at his nipples—the other doing delicious things to the base of his cock, Axel alternated between running his tongue along the sides of Roxas dick, eyes watching his face carefully, and sucking him entirely into his mouth, the head of his cock somewhere down Axel's throat. Roxas tried not to compare it to Sora, tried not to compare it to Riku, tried not focus on the exact reason why Axel was so good at sucking cock was probably because he had lots of practice. He tried to do nothing, tried to accept that Axel's gift to himself was being able to make Roxas feel good, felt the idea flit around the edges of his comprehension. Did Axel really like him that much? Did he—oh, _god_, Axel was jacking Roxas off into his mouth, wrist twisting expertly, the slight sucking as Axel bobbed his head. Roxas felt the claws under his skin threaten to tear their way out, a soft moan spilling past his lips as Axel glanced upward, met his eyes. It was too much, far too much, and Roxas' entire body shook, limbs rigid, as Axel swallowed his come, the head of his cock nudging the back of Axel's throat.

As Roxas collapsed against Axel's bed, he felt the other boy pull his knees wider apart, felt Axel push his legs up until his feet rested on the edge of the bed. His body erupted in goosebumps as Axel spread the cheeks of his ass, licked at him, placed a kiss, a promise, on his puckered hole.

"I have," Roxas breathed, exhausted, "a banana."

"A banana," Axel smiled, swallowing Roxas again, letting his softening dick slide down between his lips.

"A condom. Banana condom if you—if you want."

Axel nuzzled Roxas' abdomen, kissed his hips. "Don't you want to remember it?"

Roxas swallowed thickly, could barely remember what it felt like as Axel first sucked him into his mouth. _Damn_. "Yes."

"Me too," Axel said, and it seemed like he couldn't get enough of pressing Roxas to him, gathering the blonde into his arms, dragging him up against his chest. The lights were still on, Roxas' wings still jutting out behind him. "This is already the best birthday ever." Roxas tasted his own semen on Axel's tongue, almost refused the water Axel held for him to drink just so he could remember, perfectly, what it felt like. "Any more and I might explode."

As they drifted off to sleep, the lights still on in the room, both still fully costumed, Roxas wasn't sure it was the right thing to have done—if it was healthy, smart, or anything other than blind need… that is, he wasn't sure except for the warmth in his chest, spreading, easy like honeyed sunshine. All his walls useless, his built up plans blown away, towering structures erected to protect a shivering heap, but how could he have known? How could he have known it was so warm next to the sun? As his breathing evened out, the warmth spreading down through his body, tickling the sides of his neck and the spaces between his toes, Roxas felt rather than heard Axel whispering something to him, felt Axel press a kiss to his forehead before the other boy's breathing evened out, the steady rise and fall of his chest a clockwork anchor, the clearest comfort Roxas had ever known.


	17. Chapter 17: Vices

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: Surprise! Is anyone even reading this shit anymore? Technically, if you've been reading the VF account on lj, this is my first update in two months, which isn't too bad. But if you're going by LB time, this is the first update in _six months_. Damn, am I a lazy bitch or what.

In all honesty: I hit a rough spot creatively after I wrote _Fight Off Your Demons_, spent a month packing up all my shit to leave Los Angeles for the east coast, started working a second job, and spent forever sewing cosplay for Anime Expo. EXCUSES, EXCUSES. I know the quality of this story has gone down, and I swear I'm trying to get the prose tight, but it's been too long. Two years is too long to keep the same style, same tone. I'm sorry it's not as good as it used to be, and I'm glad those of you still reading are able to look past such obvious flaws.

ALSO! I did write a very small one shot for this epic project of epicness (think doujinshi circle with all your favorite KH writers and artists working together) that was spearheaded by our now retired leader, **suddenchangeofheart**, but I'm thinking about waiting until the art is up to post the story. If you want to check out who is involved (**Quillslinger**, **Casey V.**, **Sowing Poppies**, to name(drop) a few—I swear, this shit is EPIC), the community is **otherends** at livejournal, link on my profile.

I think I had new fanart somewhere in the past 6 months, check either my deviantART or the VF lj fanart section to see. This is the SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER, kids. I mean, it's sorta obvious how it all ends, but I guess you guys are a bunch of fucking masochists. Nevertheless, I LOVE YOU ALL, and I appreciate every last kind word. One more chapter left! Then we can all get wasted!

* * *

**Chapter 17: Vices**

It's nothing short of remarkable how truly stubborn the human mind can be when operating under willful ignorance. Whole countries enslaved by a collective idea, an agreement on something that, by sheer force of numbers, becomes accepted as "truth." What might have been a mistake, a drunken fumbling between sheets, is forced out of existence until no mistakes were ever made, just what had been done and why it was right. What might have happened, though heavy enough to crack the world, was nothing more than an errant gesture; an afterthought—mindless, casual. So Axel had sucked his dick. For Roxas and the world at large, life went on unchanged, unscathed. Sure, there was the issue of sexual tension that radiated around them when they were in close proximity, a scorching flush that shot across the span of his skin with speed akin to the time it took to end a life in a freeway accident. An abdominal lurch, instantaneous, anticipation of touch like a forest fire over his body.

And, to a more aching extent, there was the issue of Roxas reminding himself, day in and day out: a blowjob is a blowjob is a blowjob. Neither more nor less than the sum total of its parts, and why did he think about it so much, anyway? It was a non-issue. Almost a non-occurrence; never brought up, never referenced. If he didn't spend so much time jacking off to the memory in the shower, Roxas suspected he might be able to convince himself it had never happened at all.

It was for this reason, along with a metric ton of anxiety, that Roxas didn't think it was a good idea to drive to Vegas with Demyx, Axel, and Zexion for Thanksgiving.

"Who even _does_ that? It's Thanksgiving! We should all go home and pretend to be pilgrims. Eat turkey or some shit."

"Turkey is abhorrent," Zexion quipped, waving a map around. Kingdom's resident snarky stoned scholar had taken it upon himself to plot out the entire half-assed roadtrip the night prior, drawing a path of scrawled blunts from Point A, Kingdom University, to Point B, Sin City itself, Las Vegas.

"This is the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. We'll probably die."

"I'm insulted," Demyx frowned around a bite of pizza, the dining commons understandably ear-splitting the eve before the end of finals. "I'm an excellent driver."

"Let not your heart be troubled, dear Roxas," Zexion sang, rolling up the map and tapping it resolutely against Roxas's hair. "Demyx's extremely gracious and unbearably loaded parents are gifting unto us this precious luxury of four nights FREE at everyone's favorite pyramid-shaped hotel." Annoyed, Roxas merely glared, flicked Axel's wrist in an attempt to get him to agree this was dangerous and potentially fatal. "Ahem, I did say FREE, didn't I? As in four FREE nights in Las Fucking Vegas?"

"There's some weird catch where we'll have to sell our bodies. I just know there is," Roxas said, pulling the map from Zexion's hands.

"It's totally legit," Demyx said, working on his third slice of mystery meat pizza. Though both Demyx and Zexion now lived off campus, it hadn't stopped them from begging Roxas and Axel for free swipes on their dining commons cards, plundering the food stations with an abandon typically seen in famished animals. Apparently there was nothing edible in off campus housing. "My parents aren't using the room this year. All we have to worry about is food and drinks."

"And drugs," Zexion nodded, helping himself to Roxas' sandwich.

"You bastards are all 21. I'm… developmentally challenged. I'll have to drink Diet Coke and play in the arcade with four year olds," Roxas said, being very careful to look nowhere but at his rapidly shrinking sandwich.

"Somehow," Axel said, swirling a fork around in his sad looking pasta, "I don't foresee that being an issue." His voice sounded light, nonchalant, but his tone was off. A near disappointment weighed his words down, something not right, his eyes everywhere but on Roxas.

"Yeah, Rox-ass, don't make excuses. You just don't want to spend time in our devastatingly sexy company," Zexion said around the final bite of Roxas' sandwich. "But please," Zexion sniffed, waving a hand toward the exit, "take your sandwich murdering skills elsewhere. We no longer have use for your talents."

"Shut it," Demyx said, sticking a forkful of stir fry in Zexion's mouth. "Listen, man. You don't have to come, but at least think about it, would you? The suite sleeps four. If it's not you, we'll have to take someone embarrassing."

"Like my _mom_," Zexion whispered, eyes wide.

"Fine, sure, I'll think about it." Roxas shrugged. "It's not like I don't want to go. I just have… stuff." Stuff, in this context, meant A Best Friend Who Hates My Guts. Weeks later, and Roxas had yet to year a single word from Sora. After years of near constant connection, to have it severed so abruptly left him suffocating, fish gaping into the useless air. Thanksgiving was the opportune moment to patch things up. It's not like Sora would hate him forever, right? _Right?_ Roxas' hands were sweating, Zexion waving a cookie in front of his eyes. "What?"

"Come on," Axel said, hand on his shoulder. "I'll bus your tray."

Roxas followed the other boy in a daze of dread. What if Sora _did_ hate him forever? It sounded ridiculous even in his head, elementary and childish, a temper tantrum of fury. Irrational, that's what this was, but the dread churned inside him, a sick, uncomfortable feeling that made it difficult for him to hear what Axel was saying to him.

"Stop that," Axel said, stroking his cheeks. When had they gotten back to the dorm?

"Huh?" Sora would hate him forever. Not like he cared. Fuck him, fuck everyone. "Don't touch me."

A flicker of hurt crossed Axel's eyes, but he continued the soft touch curving down over the slope of Roxas' cheek. "You're thinking about it again. Just let it go."

"Let _what_ go? I can't not think about it forever. I have to go home and squash it with them. It's inevitable. Me, him, Riku… we're inevitable. We're going to happen. You can't stop it." _I can't stop it. I don't want to. Do I?_

"Sure, whatever. He's your best friend. I'm not saying don't be friends with him. I'm saying… you just," Axel said, shaking his head. "You're in a delicate place. I don't—_you_ shouldn't want to go back there right now. Just give it time. Until… y'know?"

"No," Roxas said. "I don't know. You don't want me to go back. You're just like him."

Shaking his head, Axel backed off, slid onto his bed and lifted his laptop onto him, pulling open the lid. "You're unmanageable when you're like this, I just hope you know that."

"Fuck you," Roxas shook his head, resisting the urge to fling a pillow at Axel's face. It was infuriating how Axel was beginning to learn the ebb and flow of his moods. Jarring and unsettling, Zexion had merely ignored them all. Axel, on the other hand… "Don't think I don't know what you're doing," Roxas said, voice menacing.

"And what's that," Axel said, noncommittal, eyes on his screen.

"Patronizing me. I'm having a fucking problem. The least you could do is let me deal with it myself."

"I _am_ letting you deal with it yourself."

Infuriating. Everything coming out of Axel's mouth made him feel like imploding. "I don't even know what you're talking about."

"I can see that. It looks like you just want to fight with me."

"So what if I do?" _You're being a child. Stop it._

"Well, that's retarded," Axel shrugged.

"So I'm a retard, too?" _Yes, you are. Retard. Retarded retard, everyone hates you._

"Just shut the fuck up and think about the trip. It'll be good for you." Axel slipped in a pair of headphones, the drone of music loud enough for Roxas to hear from across the room.

"Yeah, pussy. Go run. I'm just going to get angrier," Roxas snapped. He knew it wasn't Axel. It wasn't anything, anyone. The general discontent was easily accessible these days, made him quick to anger, a candle burning at both ends.

"I can't hear you," Axel said, not looking at him, hacking away on his computer.

"Yeah, yeah," Roxas said, yanking his pants down. So what? So let Axel watch him jack off. It's the only thing that cleared his mind these days, anyway. _Not like I've got a blowjob or a boyfriend to take my mind of things. What a fucking joke we are._ Scaling his bunk, Roxas balled up his sheets and tossed them to the floor, yanked his boxers down savagely across his hips and took his dick into a fist, slammed his eyes shut and thought of black holes and a nameless, faceless body running feverish hands over his skin, pressing places that made his stomach churn. All thought, all emotion out of focus beyond the pressure building at the base of his dick, electric and pulsing. It was hot in the room, hotter than Roxas thought November warranted, his technique a furious grip and tug, like shaking up a bottle of juice, packing cigarettes. The sound of the door opening brought him back to the surface, a glimpse of Axel's hair as he left the room without a word.

"Asshole," Roxas shouted, releasing himself with disgust. He didn't expect Axel to throw the door back open, furious.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Axel spat, scaling Roxas' bunk with remarkable speed and pulling his legs apart, crouching down over him. Roxas' entire body burned. "What are you doing?"

"Jacking off," Roxas whispered, thighs shaking under Axel's scrutiny. _This is bizarre. I should ask him to put his mouth on it._ "Can I help you with something?"

"This isn't a fucking porno. Put your clothes on." Axel sounded angry, but he made no move to let Roxas clothe himself. In fact, his breathing seemed somewhat labored, pupils dilated.

"Am I that gross?" _Yeah, so gross. That's why he's hard, right. So gross._

"Is this what you want?" Axel hissed, running two fingers between the cleft of his ass. "You want some mindless, angry fuck?" Cool fingers probed the outside of his ass, teasing, Axel's mouth inches from the head of his dick. "Because I can fuck you. You want to fuck? I can fuck you."

_Yes, please. God, yes._ "Whatever." His hips twitched upward, a miniscule thrust, the tip of his dick sliding against Axel's lips. His entire body stilled when Axel glared at him.

"Just finish up, for fuck's sake." Axel said, withdrawing his fingers and leaning back.

"I can't do it with you watching," Roxas said, mouth dry, triangulating the exact angle that Axel's eyes hit his body.

"Bullshit. Do it. I want to see." Axel grabbed his wrist and manually wrapped Roxas' fingers around his own dick. "Do it."

"No." _You're fucking it up._

"You wanted me to watch, didn't you? I'M WATCHING. DO IT," Axel spat, dropping Roxas' wrist. Roxas began mechanically pumping his fist, Axel's eyes taking on a lusty haze, lids lowered. Spirals of darkness spun in his periphery, tunnel vision closing in until it was just Axel, just Axel and how he looked like he hated him.

The orgasm was brief, a quick bolt of lightning, and his come shot weakly onto his hand, his stomach. The world paused as Axel leaned forward, stretched out a finger, and wiped a pool of come off Roxas' hand and lifted it to his mouth, eyes distant and unreadable.

"_Fuck_," Roxas exhaled as Axel licked his finger clean, made no move to get off of Roxas' bed.

"You have no idea how much I…" Axel trailed off, eyes drinking in his naked body, a lazy slide of green over every inch of Roxas' bare skin. His flagging erection twitched and the tension broke, a small smile creeping onto Axel's mouth as he slid down, off the bed. "I'm going to be thinking about this all fucking night."

_You and me both._ "I should charge for that."

"Yeah," Axel said, palms pressed into his eyes. "You would."

Somewhere between 2 a.m. and sunrise, Roxas decided Las Vegas didn't sound like too bad of an idea.

* * *

"Dude, you can't bring that." Demyx hovered over Zexion as he attempted to shove what looked like an entire kilo of pot into his overstuffed messenger bag. The 9 a.m. boarding call Demyx scheduled at the curb outside The Crack House had been hectic, Axel cramming a hijacked waffle from the dining commons into Roxas' mouth as he stumbled out of his two minute shower, still mostly asleep.

"I'm naked," Roxas mumbled through the golden carbohydrated bliss as he groped mindlessly for a pair of boxers.

"Well, then it's just another average day, isn't it," Axel said, eyes on his hands packing assorted things into his bag. The impromptu voyeurism session had nearly short-circuited Roxas' store of inhibitions, the next day more of a game of charades than any actual conversation between himself and his roommate. Roxas was very, very careful not to mention the amount of time Axel had been spending in the shower.

Fully clothed and mostly packed, Roxas had toddled over to where Axel was bent over his bed, stuffing what looked suspiciously like tinfoil squares into his bag, and wrapped his arms around Axel's waist, pressing his nose into the boy's back.

"Thanks for breakfast. Without you, I would starve." _Melodrama. God, get it together._

"I know," Axel said, voice clipped, but he relaxed into Roxas' arms for the 2.5 seconds before he grabbed his clock in near comical horror, "9 o'clock!," and dashed for the door.

"Do you _want_ me to shrivel up and die?" Zexion asked, scandalized at Demyx's judgment.

"If we get stopped by border patrol, you'll be going to prison for a long time." Axel said, leaned over the backseat of Demyx's Denali. When the slight blonde rolled up, punk music blaring, to help them load the bags, it was difficult for Roxas to come to terms with his vehicle of choice.

"You drive a Denali?" Roxas' jaw, scraping somewhere along the sidewalk.

"Yep," Demyx nodded, lifting out a hand to take Roxas' bag.

"A _Denali_?" Roxas asked again, gaping. Axel choked on a laugh, hauling open one of the back doors.

"Yukon XL, yep. You worried about getting shot?"

"Dude, do you sell drugs?" Roxas asked, handing over his backpack.

"That is so racist, man." Demyx said, testing the weight of Roxas' bag. "And that's Escalades, for the record."

"He's secretly a rapper," Zexion said, arriving with the kilo of pot. In the end, Zexion was allowed one nug, to be smoked en route, and the rest of his almost ridiculous stash—"What! I know you sharks are all potheads. I can't help my generous nature!"—was deposited back at the room he shared with Demyx off campus, concealed with the grace of a truly stoned recreational drug user: inside the microwave—"It's the last place anyone will look! Trust me!"

Demyx really was an excellent driver, 70 on the freeway—something Zexion objected to, swatting at the wheel, "We'll get there next year, grandpa! I'm driving!"—and, about 30 minutes in, had already avoided colliding with a semi whose driver was too busy staring at Axel fellating the neck of his Hefeweizen and trading winks with the mustachioed trucker to stay in his own lane.

"Thanks," Demyx said, mostly unruffled. "You're drinking in the backseat, making kissyfaces with nasty methhead truckers, and Smoky McPot over here is higher than the goddamn sun. That'll be a hell of a report to give the cops."

"Gotta do something to pass the time," Axel said, knocking back the rest of his beer. "My seatmate has abandoned me for window gawking."

"I am not gawking," Roxas mumbled, reasonably stoned off the two hits Zexion offered… _after_ he produced a mysterious second nug. Axel's leg was bouncing against the floor, knees spread obscenely. It was all he could do to stop from leaning over, unzipping the redhead's jeans, and getting to work. Why smoking always made him so fucking horny was a mystery to him. A delicious, torturous mystery.

Zexion, staring blearily at Roxas from the passenger seat, began laughing weakly. "You are erect, good sir," he said, pointing at Roxas' erection. Axel was suddenly very interested in whatever was out his window.

"Wow, check out that… bird," Axel said, feigned distraction.

"You should just take your pants off, Roxas!" Zexion said, full of good cheer. "I don't mind! Do you mind, Dem!"

"Stop screaming," Demyx said, dialing the stereo up a little louder, winking at Roxas in the rearview.

_The universe truly hates me. My own dick hates me._ For the fifth time Roxas reached for his phone… the same phone Axel suggested he leave in their dorm. Suggested, in this context, meant Hid From Roxas At The Last Possible Second, Roxas checking everywhere he thought he could've left it before he caught Axel laughing quietly.

"You fuck." He'd wanted very much to stick his tongue in Axel's mouth, couldn't even find it within himself to be annoyed. But now, Axel staring intently out the window, tapping out the intro to "Hitchin' A Ride" on his knees, Roxas thought he'd implode if Axel acted like this the entire trip. _Didn't he _want_ me to come? Way to go, jackass._

"I didn't know you liked Green Day." Axel, suddenly in his ear, Roxas jumping slightly in his seat.

"I…" Roxas said.

"You were mouthing the words," Axel said, eyes on his mouth.

_You're going to give me whiplash._ "I listened to this record twice a day for the first two years of high school." Riding the shortbus into the Angeles Institute, blue cassette cranking steadily in his stolen Walkman, thinking about what Sora would have for lunch. Music so loud he couldn't hear the kids getting on the bus, wouldn't acknowledge anyone until Sora slid into the seat next to him, smiling in his clown shoes. "Hey, dude, turn it up," Roxas called, tapping Demyx on the shoulder. He staged an impressive concert in the Denali's backseat, complete with air drums and mic-grabbing intensity, Zexion's cashed piece substituting nicely when Roxas couldn't unearth something more suitable.

"'_Cause I cannot speak, I've lost my voice, I'm speechless and redundant 'cause 'I love you's not enough. I'm lost for words,_" Roxas crooned into the pipe, fluttering his eyelashes earnestly at Axel. It wasn't the right song, obviously, more about a stagnant relationship than the start of something new, but the chorus worked well enough. _Does he get it? Does he?_

When the song closed, Demyx dialed the stereo down, everyone clapping enthusiastically as Zexion stuck his head out the window and shouted for an encore. Axel, unable to stop grinning after he caught Roxas' "microphone," fanned his face. "Be still my heart, the lead singer is _so_ dreamy." Nuzzling the pipe against his cheek, Axel sighed, "I shall cherish it forever."

"No you won't!" Zexion cried, eyes bloodshot. "Paws of my shit, firecrotch!"

It wasn't quiet the admission of comprehension Roxas was looking for, but for the duration of the trip Axel sat with an arm slung around his shoulder, both of them resting comfortably against each other.

* * *

More than the heat permeating the glittering high rises, raising up in waves from the asphalt, there was a certain disreputable haze that sat over Sin City, worked its way into the pores, sank into the bloodstream. Each overheated movement of limbs dragged down with sweating lethargy, vice tinged air lining the lungs. Roxas anticipated being blown back by the staggering heat, steeling himself before throwing open the door in the parking garage, but there was only the welcoming warmth a few degrees warmer than what he'd considered average weather. Then again, it was _November_ and felt more like the beginning of summer, but Roxas was pleased he'd have every opportunity to keep his body clothed as much as possible… which, of course, was a resolution soon rendered useless as the first thing Axel did when walking into the bedroom of the suite, making a comment on how the king was just the right size, was strip his shirt off, jeans slung low on his hips, Roxas adding another couple degrees to the temperature.

"Not too shabby," Axel said, throwing himself down on the bed. In the kitchenette, Zexion was bemoaning the lack of illegal substances, the crinkle of ice cubes and the measured pour of liquor traveling down the short hallway. Roxas, doing his best impression of a statue, watched as Axel beckoned him to the bed with a finger. When Roxas was in reaching distance, Axel grabbed him and threw him down on the bed, immediately pinning his wrists, straddling his waist. "Wanna christen the bed?" Axel's eyes searing into his retinas, Roxas could only swallow, wonder if he was still stoned.

"Out," Zexion said in the doorway, pointing. "The couch pulls out. You two animals can defile other holy temples." Zexion, glass in hand, pulled Roxas out from underneath Axel and shoved the drink at him. "See you later, captain."

His entire body numb with want, Roxas took the glass and downed it. Indeed, in the next four days there was little set before him that Roxas said no to. This drink, that drink, this bite of food, that atrocious shirt, the four of them prepping for what was supposed to be a night spent gyrating into the asses of strangers but turned into a mission of sorts: If I Flirt With You Hard Enough, Will You Let My Underage Friend In? After a string of denials and refusals, Roxas increasingly sober as they sauntered down the Strip, Axel finally held a hand up.

"Let me handle this one," he said, convincingly sober though Roxas remembered him drinking more than the rest of them.

"Offering to suck his dick isn't playing by the rules," Zexion slurred, fishing in Roxas' pocket for his pack of Parliaments.

"Since when do you smoke?" Roxas asked. It was hard to make his mouth form the right words, the world dizzying and flashing around them. It was colder at night, realizing he was standing close enough to Zexion to smell his deodorant.

"Since I'm in _Vegas_, baby," Zexion said, blowing smoke into his face. At the door, Axel was gesturing toward them, one hand on the bouncer's shoulder.

"Where are we?" Roxas asked, the Strip somewhere either to his left or his right. _I'm wearing that shirt, goddammit. How did that happen?_ Roxas remembered standing in the suite, remembered having a glass of rum and a chaser, remembered vehemently refusing to wear anything with a V-neck, but here he was, standing somewhere in Las Vegas, almost too drunk to function, wearing a V-neck, a hoodie, and what felt like a leather jacket or something, hood up and hand to his lips, smoking a cigarette like everything was a third person experience. He attempted to push the hood off, but Zexion swatted his hand away.

"Very Hollywood," Demyx said in his ear. The proximity gave Roxas goosebumps, tingles pricking down across the side of his neck. _Am I on drugs?_ From the door, Axel waved them over as he passed off some bills, slid an arm around Roxas' shoulders and thanked the bouncer as the guy smirked down at him and untied the rope to let them in.

"What did you say to him?" Roxas asked the side of Axel's neck, resisted the urge to stick out his tongue and lick at the dot of a mole he'd never noticed before.

"That you're a Russian prince." Axel's hand on the small of his back, leading them under a curtain into an assault of techno and strobe lights. There was breathing room, thankfully, snapshots of flailing limbs and guys in sunglasses hanging all over each other.

"What did you _really_ say to him?" Roxas asked. _Wait a second… there aren't any girls here?_

"That it's our first date and I want to impress you because I think you're The One." Axel produced two drinks from what looked like thin air near the bar, sliding down more bills.

"How much was cover?" Roxas slurred, sipping what tasted like vodka, cranberry, and oblivion.

"For all of us?" Axel slammed a shot of tequila, tapped the glass on the bar for another. "About $80."

"We didn't need to come here," Roxas mumbled, fishing for a twenty in his pocket. He needed a piss, wanted to writhe up against Axel and suck his cock right there on the dancefloor.

"Keep your money. You can buy me a drink later." Axel, leading him into the flashing mass of limbs, a hand on his ass, the button on Axel's jeans digging into his stomach. It wasn't so much dancing as it was rubbing against each other and about twenty strangers, two pairs of hands on his ass, a tongue in his ear, Axel shoving someone away. Roxas felt recessed into himself, somewhere not on the surface of the experience, but from what he could tell, he was having fun, hands securely plastered to Axel's swaying hips. Secured at least until he was spun away, something tasting like watermelon and vodka burning down his throat, someone attractive he didn't know leading him to a table.

"What's your name?" A hand on the back of his neck, another shooter of watermelon and vodka pressed to his lips.

"Uhhh," Roxas said, swallowing, trying to look over his shoulder for Axel. The stranger leaned his ear toward Roxas' mouth. "Evan," Roxas lied, taking a seat at the table. Several bottles of alcohol sat in a bucket of ice, smirking strangers encircling him, the flash of eyes illuminating with the burn of cigarettes.

"Ven? That's an interesting name. Have a drink, Ven."

"It's Evan, actually," Roxas said, taking the glass of straight Grey Goose and attempting to remain calm as someone lifted it to his lips.

"Do you like Ecstasy, Ven?" the stranger asked, opening a hand. In the center of his palm sat a pill. "I have a suite at the Bellagio. I could make it very, _very_ worth your time."

"I'm not…" Roxas said vaguely, winching as the vodka tumbled down his throat, finally spotting Axel at the bar, surveying him over the rim of a glass.

"Let's have a dance, and you can think about it," the stranger said, pulling him to his feet, hands on either side of his ass as he slowly began thrusting against Roxas' body under the guise of dancing.

_Rip this fucker's balls off and run_. But Roxas didn't want any trouble, going along bonelessly to the guy's advances. Dark hair, light eyes. He _was_ attractive. Maybe if Axel wasn't standing over there watching, maybe he would go back and fuck this guy, take his E and drink his drinks and suck his dick. There would just be the fight with Sora and this attractive stranger who thought he was a prostitute, no Axel. _My life would actually suck_, he thought, flicking his tongue against the one in his mouth. When the stranger pulled away, Axel was there, eyes hard.

"There you are," he said, faux happiness, and slid a hand into Roxas', interlacing their fingers and squeezing tightly. The grip said _run when I tell you_. The grip said _don't be afraid._

"Excuse me," the stranger said, attempting to step between them. "I think you're mistaken. My friend and I were dancing."

"_Nooo,_" Axel said, adopting a flamboyant lilt. "This is my boyfriend's younger brother! He _totally_ snuck in underage, the little shit." Fixing a pointed stare at the stranger, Axel went on, scandalized, "I mean can you _imagine_. Someone trying to hit on a fourteen-year-old? Ew, _pedophiles_."

The stranger sneered down at Roxas and turned back to his table without a word, Axel not losing a moment to sink them into the crowd. Roxas, clearly drunker than continued existence warranted, could hardly make his feet work.

"Sorry," he mumbled into Axel's chest. He was leaned up against a wall, somewhere on the way to the bathrooms, he assumed, the ripening smell of piss and vomit weaving its way straight to his stomach.

Axel, hunched over him, obscuring him from view, shrugged. "Not your fault. I thought you were having fun. When he stuck his tongue in your mouth and you went all rigid, that's when I figured you weren't."

"He had some E," Roxas slurred, hands twitching at his sides. Axel's fly was right there. Two layers of clothing, and then this suffocating need would go away. He wondered if it would fit in his mouth.

"Did you think he was hot?" Axel asked, staring out toward the rest of the club.

_Not as hot as you_. "Not as hot as you." _Shit, not out loud, idiot_.

"Hmm?" Axel, looking down at him like he'd heard every single word.

"It's hot in here," Roxas rasped, shrugging the hood off his head. Axel was very, very close to him. It's not like they hadn't kissed, like Axel hadn't sucked his dick, hadn't watched him come all over himself. But there was some wistful element here, one that Roxas was never sure Axel reciprocated. The swirling, heady sensation, breathless and very, very… _happy. He makes me happy_.

"God," Axel said into his hair, body bowed out and away. "God, what am I going to do with you."

"Wine, dine, and flower me," Roxas said, eyes closed.

"That what you want? A little romance?" Axel's lips nearly lined up with his, liquored breath ghosting over his mouth.

But Roxas wasn't a girl and this wasn't a fairytale. Maybe once upon a time, maybe in another universe, but Roxas didn't have any of that, didn't have the luxury of entertaining ideas of a house in the suburbs, of kids and a big, beautiful wedding. Theirs was a different kind of romance, vodka substituting wine, pills substituting dinner, countless secrets substituting flowers. But was it any less, in the end? An urban fairytale, a fallen fairytale.

Pressing a small kiss to Axel's lips—quiet, befitting the praise of poets—Roxas said, "I'll take what I can get."

* * *

His hangover lasted for the better part of two days, Roxas immobile on the pull out until Zexion took pity on him and allowed Axel to deposit him on the real bed, steady stream of water, Bloody Marys, and HBO pumping vitality back into his body. Somewhere around noon on the second day of his alcohol-induced bed rest, Roxas realized he was alone in the suite and got straight to business: jacking off at least three times in two hours. Sharing a pull out with Axel wasn't difficult if he was passed out drunk, but god_damn_ was it exciting to think of Axel jacking off to his unconscious, drunken form. The last day and a half had been at most a really exciting blur, something about Axel winning a thousand dollars playing poker, Zexion tossing his cookies over a nickel machine, and Demyx being hit on by a drag queen, and while Roxas was sort of disappointed to have missed all the action, he realized he'd have missed it sober anyway, nine months short of partaking in the festivities. But this—nursing a drink and watching softcore while jacking off—wasn't too bad. In fact, he could think of at least one worse way to spend Thanksgiving: watching your best friend fuck his boyfriend and ask you to join in. What, Roxas wondered, had he been smoking.

"Good morning, gorgeous." Axel, sauntering in with a mostly empty margarita, smelled like cigarettes and money.

"It's three in the afternoon. Aren't we leaving tomorrow?"

"That is correct," Axel said, toeing off his shoes and hopping on the bed, offering the margarita to Roxas before thinking better of it and setting it aside. "How's your stomach?"

"I'm starving to death," Roxas said, reaching for the margarita.

"You have a deathwish? Any more liquor and your liver is going to explode."

Roxas quickly knocked back the rest of his Bloody Mary. "Ooo," he moaned, squeezing his abdomen. "It's rupturing."

"Ha-ha," Axel said, turning up the volume on the softcore Roxas had on. "This shit will rot your brain."

"Yeah, yeah, exploding livers, brain rot. Thanks for your concern, mom."

"You always dry hump your mom in your drunken slumber?" Axel's mouth quirked in a smile.

Aghast, Roxas grabbed the remote and switched channels. "I did _not_."

"It was more of an innocent spooning, but I was touched, Roxas, really _touched_."

"Feed me, bitch." Roxas said, pointing at the kitchenette, cheeks flaming.

Somewhere in between bites of cold pizza and fighting over the remote, Axel produced a pill, sealed it in one of Roxas' hands.

"Oxy, 80 milligrams. That's 40 each. Think about it." And that was that, Axel leaving the channel on _The Land Before Time_ and disappearing into the shower.

Eyeing the small slate blue pill in the center of his sweating palm, Roxas thought about the last time he'd seen someone on Oxy, Tidus smoking it in Hayner's room, foil blackening under the lighter, and his consequent spiral into Drooling Idiot land, motor skills at a standstill, lolling on the floor like he was wasted. Where, Roxas wondered, had Axel gotten this? The anticipation proved slightly too much to handle, Roxas setting the pill aside to jack off, thoughts of Axel in the shower, water streaming down his body, hair damp, mouth open. Hoovering on the edge, Roxas couldn't bring himself off, kept staring at the pill. It wouldn't kill him to try it.

Axel came back, much to Roxas' dismay, fully clothed as opposed to in a towel, slid into the bed where Roxas was staring at the pill in his hand.

"I think I fucked it up." The casing was coming loose, saturated in his sweat.

Axel picked the pill up and smiled, searching a pair of jeans for his wallet and extracting a credit card. "You want the casing off, anyway." Roxas watched, creeping anticipation, as Axel cut the pill up on the tray that held the water glasses in the bathroom, fine white powder scooped together and cut, scooped together and cut. "You sure?" Axel asked, handing Roxas a rolled up twenty, his half of the pill divided into five orderly lines. Mouth dry, Roxas nodded. "Do one and wait for me," Axel said, hand on the back of his neck.

A quick sniff and Roxas handed the tray back over, wandering around the bed to take sips from Axel's margarita. "Where are Zexion and Dem?"

Sniffing, Axel nodded toward the street. "Bar hopping. They said you'd get annoyed if I tried to babysit you, so I brought along a bribe.

"Hmmm," Roxas said, licking the rim of Axel's cup. "A bribe of pharmaceuticals and sex. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."

"Hey now," Axel said, lifting the tray to Roxas. "I haven't offered the sex yet."

Roxas sniffed up his next line and handed the tray back. "Yet?"

"You know Oxy is a form of heroin?" Axel set the tray on the night stand and got up from the bed, pulled Roxas into his arms. "What do you think about that?"

Roxas rubbed at his nosed, sniffling. "Makes me feel gross." The world started blurring out, a drunken slide as he pulled Axel down, hand at the back of the redhead's neck, tonguing the roof of his mouth and tasting chemicals. "Gross. I can taste your drips."

Axel rubbed a thumb across his mouth, eyes unfocused. "You want to taste something else?"

Laughing weakly, Roxas bent over for another line. "This isn't a porno, remember?" He felt Axel's hands on his hips, crotch lined up with his ass. If they weren't dressed…

"I'll call up a camera crew, get a couple nice lights." Axel snorted the rest of his lines in quick succession, slid a hand up under Roxas' shirt and flicked at a nipple, licked the shell of his ear. "Do you know how good you'd look on that bed?" Axel's fingers sliding over his chest, his stomach, the credits to _The Land Before Time_ playing over his shoulder. _How long has it been? The sun set already?_ Axel's hands slid up and down his sides, teasing the band of his boxers. _Fuck, I haven't showered in two days. Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_.

Though he was clearly good to go, Roxas snorted his last couple lines as the room swam and he lost the use of his speech entirely, slurring out incomplete sentences as Axel found new ways to make his heart race, lips against his neck. Somewhere, under 40 milligrams of Oxycodone and lust, the real Roxas asked him just what the fuck he was doing, asked him how he could do this to Sora, asked him why he was such a selfish prick. _He's your best friend. He could be killing himself right now, but you're too busy getting high and making out to give a shit._

"Shut up," Roxas mumbled, shaking his head.

"Didn't say anything," Axel murmured, licking his jawline. "You taste like come. Been jacking off recently?"

"Nn—only about fifteen times a day." Axel's hand rubbing at the front of his boxers, his erection already painfully obvious. Just as Axel dipped his thumbs past Roxas' waistband, boxers descending, the world spun a little too quickly, Roxas flinging a hand to his mouth. "I think I need to lie down."

"Shit," Axel exhaled, jeans half undone.

"_Fuck_," Roxas moaned, clutching his stomach. "I need water or something, my mouth tastes like the desert." Axel produced a glass of water that did nothing for the dry mouth, and only if he held very still, muscles relaxed, did the nausea subside. "Ax… this feels exactly like being hungover."

"Shit," Axel said again, sliding into the bed. "We need to stop doing this."

"We?" Roxas snorted, fighting off the urge to puke. "You're fine."

"I just don't show it like you do. I feel like I'm going to lose it over the side of the bed."

"Damn. I really wanted to have sex with you." _Aw, shit. Just shut the hell up._

"Really?" Axel smiled. "Do tell."

"Don't look so pleased, assface. I like you. I'd say that much is pretty obvious."

"Well, I dunno, _assface_. Sometimes you have a funny way of showing it." Axel placed a kiss in the corner of his mouth, lifted his shirt and rubbed at the nausea in his stomach.

"Can I at least suck your dick?" Roxas mumbled, nodding off under Axel's touches, pharmaceutical lull throbbing in his veins.

Roxas swore he saw the front of Axel's jeans surge. "You really sure you want your first memory of giving me a bj to be the one where you puke all over my dick and I rush you to the emergency room with an Oxy overdose and end up spending the next six months in jail for being the supplier, thereby missing graduation and your funeral and irrevocably fucking up the rest of my life?"

Roxas wrinkled his nose. "I'm dying?"

Tugging Roxas closer, Axel laughed. "You're missing the point."

As he slid in and out of consciousness, Axel's heartbeat erratic in his right ear, the draw of air into the redhead's lungs a reassuring lullaby, Roxas wondered if this was how it felt to fall asleep with the person you loved, clean sheets and lazy, honeyed warmth. If, despite being fucked to kingdom come, the nameless joy blanketing him was the direct result of coming into contact with what was slowly becoming his whole world. There was the off chance that the euphoria was just the direct result of really fucking good opiates, but if the fluttering in his chest was any indication, Axel's lips working against his, no drug could ever touch this high. Like watching birds disappear in the glare of the sun, when it came to Axel, nothing else even came close.


	18. Chapter 18: Fireworks

**Disclaimer**: They aren't mine.

**A/N**: The time has come. Last chapter, kids. Lengthy notes and emo sob story at the end of the chapter. (Closing credits: "Your Hand in Mine" by Explosions in the Sky, link is up on my profile.)

If you made it this far, you deserve a fucking medal. Enjoy; you earned it.

* * *

**Chapter 18: Fireworks**

At five years old there is nothing you can't do. Doctor, astronaut, fireman, lawyer, football player, president. The child knows no bounds, has no fears, grasps indifferently at everything, only seeking. Seeking as an end in itself; the desire to know, to be. As life shapes and scolds, so the seeking congeals into goals, dreams, a definitive self you see yourself becoming. Frost's road not taken, Borges' forked path, a vision of yourself—not just what you do, but who you _are_. For Roxas, the self he'd imagined himself being at five, the brain surgeon defense attorney firefighter, faded away by the time he reached thirteen. His childhood hopes and dreams hanging by the neck, a noose. By the time he was sixteen, there was only an empty fog where his future was supposed to be, borrowed time and held, fearful breath his only company besides Sora as he blew out sixteen candles. What to do, where to go? Who to be when you don't feel safe in your own skin, when your hands reject your heart, your blood a prison? There was just the fog, pushing at his limbs as he forced through, un-breathing, and sought his self in the emptiness. But how far can you go into the night without the promise of dawn?

* * *

The build toward Christmas break accumulated in his head until it felt swollen, bubbled tension like strings suspended up out of him into the firmament. Roxas, a fearful marionette, as he took his midterms and plotted his gifts. For Zexion there would be an electric grill—"Grilled cheese. The terrible, terrible things I would do for a grilled cheese sandwich right now."—though mostly everyone else he knew was getting a DVD. This year promised to be fairly bleak, Roxas' expanded circle of friends reaping the good fortune of his, for lack of a better world, _cheerful_ mood via his woefully dry bank account. Who would have guessed Axel's tongue in his mouth would be such a thorough remedy, Roxas traipsing around campus to his classes with what could only be described as an actual _smile_ on his mouth. He couldn't help it. Axel was…

"Daydreaming again? I think I'm getting you an anchor for Christmas; it'll keep your head out of the clouds." Axel, dropping his backpack off at the foot of his bed and angling his head up toward Roxas' lofted bunk for a kiss. No matter how slight the sentiment, Axel's affection still made his breath catch. Kiss number one hundred and twenty-four. One hundred and twenty-five, this one with tongue, Roxas' grin burning the sides of his cheeks.

"I'm just thinking about all the coal I'm shipping to San Francisco for you. What's the address again?" Apparently the Spence family reunion took place every year on Christmas, this year Axel's eccentric uncle hosting the event in a house so narrow that Roxas couldn't believe anyone actually lived in it.

"Haven't you ever been to San Francisco? All the houses look like this." Roxas had craned over Axel's shoulder, baffled at the delicious architecture as Axel explained his holiday plans. Unable to suppress a slight twinge of jealousy—after all, Roxas had only his estranged friends and his empty house to look forward to—he'd clicked on a picture of candy-colored condos on steeply angled streets.

"Wasn't there an earthquake here?" _God, I want to go. Invite me._

"There's earthquakes everywhere." Axel quickly closed the browser, attempting to derail Roxas' line of thought.

"What if there's an earthquake?" _Invite me_.

"Well, then I guess I'll be dead," Axel had said, flicking his ear. Roxas promptly covered Axel's face in kisses, stopping only after they'd somehow gone from mostly vertical to entirely horizontal, breathing heavily. It was a familiar halt, dick hard and throbbing in his jeans, Axel trembling under his hands. Despite appearing and behaving like an actual couple, they had yet to get busy between the sheets. Axel never brought the subject up, and Roxas never asked. He didn't mind not having sex, of course. They'd already been not having sex for the entire time they'd known each other. Not like Roxas cared or thought about it obsessively every couple of hours throughout the day and especially while he brushed his teeth. Not at all. As long as his unending need was supplemented by long, slow kisses and dry humping, Roxas was all set. Didn't mind _much_, anyway. It had been two weeks since Axel broke the news, abruptly exploding any and all thoughts Roxas had been entertaining of Christmas blowjobs and sleepy midnight make out sessions. _And sex, goddammit_, Roxas was completely aware of how saccharine Christmas sex would be for their first time together, but clichéd sapfest or not, it didn't stop Roxas from thinking about Axel fucking him over a mound of presents.

"It's only for the week. We'll hang when I get back in the area, and you can give me my truckload of coal then." Kiss one hundred and twenty-six, this one stirring Roxas' guts.

"You only _think_ I'm kidding," Roxas said, watching Axel crack a history text in preparation for his last midterm. "I fully expect the best barbeque ever." _That, or sex_. Because it had been good. Fuck, it had been _great_ since Vegas, their return to Kingdom an easy, smooth progression where they walked to class together, ate together, holed up in Axel's bed and watched documentaries on the seven wonders of the ancient world together, Axel's heartbeat steady against Roxas' back. Of course, there was the troubling worry that they didn't have a label, that there had not once been a discussion of futures that progressed beyond the next couple weeks. It should've been impossible, should've been an excuse to stir the storm barely at bay in Roxas' chest, but for some reason it was enough. Just Axel, just having him like this, was enough. One week nicotine-free, and Roxas couldn't remember the last time he had a drink. Things appeared to be on the up and up, a promised dawn on the horizon.

Which was why Roxas was bracing himself for impact.

* * *

They had a terrible track record. A year and three months, and every time Roxas came back from being at home, his world had rent itself anew. Roxas would not be fooled by his silent phone and empty inbox. He knew the hellish whirlwind that awaited him a hundred and fifty miles south, knew he'd be charging into the front lines. _It wouldn't be so hard if…_

Axel's hands on the jut of his hips, keeping him in place as Roxas figured out new ways to make Axel laugh into his mouth, tongue running along ridges, wet and warm as they stood on the curb outside the upperclassmen dorms, illuminated by fluorescence and moonlight.

"Gunna be okay?" Axel murmured into his mouth, dipping a hand under his shirt and smoothing up the small of his back. Roxas hummed against Axel's lips, shivered as the touch spread over his skin. "That mean yes?"

"Just go before I lock myself in your trunk."

"Kidnapper chic," Axel smirked, nipping lightly at Roxas' jaw. "I can get down with that."

Approaching and approaching, the steady march of the inevitable, and it was finally there. For whatever irrational reason, Roxas felt like he would never see Axel again, the fear thundering up his legs, into his arms and fingers where he clutched at Axel's jacket, inhaling and inhaling. Damp happiness, tired with joy, and god_damn_ he didn't want Axel to go. Such a terrible, terrible track record.

"Hey," Axel said, kissing under his eyes. "It'll be different this time." Kiss one hundred and forty-nine, this one sweet, for courage. "I want to hear you say it."

Axel, blazing in his arms. "It'll be different this time." A serious nod, then Axel turned and hopped into his truck, motoring off. Five minutes later, Roxas restarted his heart and climbed into his idling car, crossing his fingers before letting his memory lead him home.

* * *

The unwinding of streets, traversed so often he swore he could navigate the roads in his sleep, and thank God for that, Roxas listing toward the center divider before righting himself, shaking his head a couple times to get the sleep off. They'd stood in the center of their dorm for an eternity, and Roxas never knew how endlessly you could savor another person, just Axel's breath a wonder all its own. Of course, a tired, treacherous drive home was his consequence, stereo increasing in volume as he felt his limbs still, dwindling down to just his thumb on the steering wheel. When he finally took the off ramp toward his sleepy seaside town, Roxas thought he might already be dreaming, might have already barreled off the road or rear-ended a semi, now blissfully unaware of his own demise. The streets looked fake, awash with mist and the glitter of stoplights and lampposts.

Despite being tired enough to be in the midst of a REM cycle, Roxas sat in his car, head against his seat, sinking into the slight incline of his driveway. In here, a bubble of unreality. Out there, everything he'd been ignoring for the last two months. Without the distractions of class, without Axel in his face every second, there was nothing to disguise the fact that he no longer had a best friend. When someone tells you as often as you can stand to hear it that you're worthwhile, special, _beautiful_—when someone fills you to the brim with adjectives, it's easy to stuff the gaping hole in your chest with sunshine and daisies, thick wads of cotton candy, easy to build a bridge one supportive word at a time. But without that steady stream of positivity, the chasm comes screaming back; the loss of Sora a stinging taunt that Roxas felt like an itch in his chest—inside his ribcage, next to his heart.

_Don't be weak. You're toxic for each other. You know it; everyone knows it_. But what you know weighed against how you feel, that's rarely the same thing, his heart issuing a painful throb as Roxas drove past the route to Sora's house. Shouldering through his front door, mother passed out on the sofa with a half-empty glass of wine on the table in front of her, Roxas crept up the stairs, avoiding the ones that creaked. He didn't know when it happened, if it was worn away by time, but home had stopped feeling like home. His dorm room didn't feel like home, but neither did his house, his own bed a foreign entity against his back… one that crinkled lightly as he shifted. Frowning, Roxas reached behind himself and found a piece of paper. _Shit_. A piece of paper from Sora. Roxas debated storming downstairs, rousing his mother with a shout. How dare she allow the enemy into his fucking bedroom? Firing off a quick text to Axel about making it home alive, Roxas flicked on the lights and scanned the note quickly.

_We need to talk. — Sora_

And that was it, one line after two months of dead air. _Shit_. Roxas would've liked to ball the paper up and light it on fire, would've liked to fold it up and sail it out his window like he didn't give a fuck. _But I do give a fuck. I will always give a fuck._ How could he not? Sora, who he knew better than he knew himself. Sora, who would stopper the sands of time if Roxas asked. Reaching for his phone, Roxas fired off a single character to a number he wouldn't have been able to forget even if he lived a thousand years. The response was nearly instantaneous, as if Sora had known, had his phone already in his hand:

_I'll be there in 5._

Sighing, heartbeat strangely audible in the stillness of his room, Roxas sat on the edge of his bed and waited.

* * *

It always happened like this, no matter how hard Roxas raged against it. Once, back in high school, Roxas had to miss one of Sora's birthday parties, his mom strong-arming him into a tagalong trip to Miami with her flavor of the week. Sora had been furious enough to get into a screaming match with Roxas at school, shouting about being betrayed, about Roxas not giving a damn, and no wonder Roxas didn't have any other friends. Roxas swore he'd never talk to the clown-shoed freak again, wished him a "nice life, while it lasts," a final barb at a condition neither one of them could help. When he got back, tanned golden, limbs easy from sunshine and quietude, neither Roxas nor Sora could keep from smiling, pulling each other into a hug so intense Roxas felt the air go out of his lungs. It was no different now, Sora pulling up on a bike, throwing it down on Roxas' lawn, beaming. Roxas, too, smiling so hard he thought his cheeks might stick like that. Happy, so happy to be forgiven, to forgive.

"You asshole, I'm going to fucking kill you," Sora said, launching himself into Roxas' open arms. That's the glory of real friendship, of course: no sin unpardoned, no grudge held, no back turned. There was very, very little Sora could do, short of murdering his mom and his friends, that would keep Roxas from him. He knew that before the fight, and he knew it again now.

Sora's hair like chocolate cake in his face, some ridiculous shampoo his mother insisted on buying, and Roxas was choking out his apologies into Sora's neck. "I'm so sorry. I can't tell you how sorry, how fucking sorry—"

Sora, quaking lightly in his arms, shook his head. "Nothing to apologize for. I fucked up, you fucked up, we fucked up." For anyone else, even for Riku, Roxas would've been suspicious of the speed with which all was forgiven. But with Sora, it was different. Why it was, or how, Roxas didn't know, the complexities of their relationship mystifying to him, as if they'd been made for this express purpose, put on earth to be the end of each other's sentences. There was no one in existence that came close to occupying the same space Sora took up in his head, his heart.

"So," Sora said, pulling away long after Roxas' arms had begun to tire from the fierce hold he had on the other boy. "Tell me everything."

So Roxas did, starting from the first silhouette against the bonfire, to underage barroom banter, to midnight meth habits, to coming clean between sheets and barely-there whispers of lips. "He is the most beautiful, broken person I've ever known," Roxas said, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. "And it's fucking scary, man. I know you're not supposed to lose yourself to another person, but Axel—he is what I set my fucking clocks to, Sora." Fighting off the tremor in his voice, Roxas whispered, "I can't believe he likes me. I can't believe he fucking likes me."

"Of course he does," Sora said, knocking his shoulder into Roxas'. They sat on his bed, eating cold soup out of cans. The same bizarre eating habits they'd had when they were thirteen now a clean comfort, the ease of familiarity, the coppery tang of processed tomato sauce on their tongues. "You're awesome; what's not to like?" Sora tapped Roxas' nose with his spoon, stole a spoonful of soup out of Roxas' can.

"Uh, my face," Roxas said, stealing some from Sora's.

"Listen," Sora said, setting the cans aside. "It's scary; I know it is. You think I don't wonder about Riku sometimes? After he," Sora's eyes going out the window, soft and sad, "told me about you two, my whole heart felt shredded. But look. Here we are. When you love someone, you have to believe in them, trust them, to take care of that love." Sora's hand went to Roxas' neck, tracing a circle there, fingertips cold from the night. "And yeah, loving someone without trusting them is scary as hell. That shit'll never work." Sora ruffled Roxas' hair quickly, grinning. "So trust him. And if he hurts you, I'll kill him." Sora's fingers in his hair were playful. Familiar, yes, and warm, but just playful. The lust of them, the tension and the pressure, had been written out, fizzled into smoke and burned away with rage and consequent time. The difference between love and sex, between love and Love, the way an entire room brightened when Sora walked in and the way the entire _world_ brightened when Axel did. Roxas knew now, knew without a doubt.

"I didn't get you anything," Roxas admitted. Until an hour ago, he was sure Sora would never speak to him again. _How easily we forget_. His arm up against Sora's, comfortable in a way that he'd never had with anyone else, sharing an armrest with someone in a class for an entire year and still feeling an awkward shock when his bare skin brushed theirs. Pressed tight in the backseat of a car with Zexion, his roommate for _two years_, and Roxas felt weird if their legs touched, squeezing himself toward the door, trying to compress his body into nothingness. But no part of his body felt estranged from Sora. _Not even my dick_, he thought, smiling wryly as Sora peeled the sheets back from his bed.

"Well, we'll call it even and do something together to make up for our horribleness," Sora said, diving into the bed.

Sliding between the sheets, Roxas' arms went around Sora, felt a mirrored heartbeat against his own. "I missed your horribleness."

Sora murmured sleepily against his shoulder, hand resting against Roxas' throat. _This is too easy_, Roxas thought, staring up at the ceiling. _Where's the catch?_ Axel, Sora, everything falling into place. Cool dread coiled up inside him, spilling along the outside of his spine. It was only a matter of time, wasn't it? It was always only a matter of time. _Negative._ Roxas frowned, hand going into Sora's hair, twisting strands between his fingers. _So negative all the time, waiting for the worst. Do you _want_ something bad to happen?_

"No," Roxas whispered quietly, Sora shifting slightly at the sound. Of course he didn't want the universe to take a dump on him, but wanting, hoping, wishing—what had these ever gotten Roxas? _Axel_, his heart whispered. Not to be done in, his head thundered, _Don't count your chickens before they're hatched. You know how much of a fuck up you are. Him, too. You're all fuck ups. What makes you think you deserve this? Why do you deserve_ _anything_? Swallowing the sour taste of panic, Roxas held tight to Sora and waited for sleep.

* * *

The idea was to drive around, to go cruising, check out some Christmas lights. It had been their holiday pastime in high school, having somewhat fallen by the wayside in the last couple of years under the more favorable route of holiday cheer: getting obliterated. Roxas pulled up in front of Riku's house only slightly nervous. He hadn't seen the other boy yet, home now for two days, but Sora assured him everything was cool. They'd hop in Riku's Benz, roll the windows down, and hunt the lights. It was supposed to be uncomplicated, easy. But there was nothing uncomplicated or easy about Riku's help shutting the front door in Roxas' face, shaking her head in alarm when she saw who'd rung the doorbell.

"Riku!" Roxas called up at the balcony, stopped short of hurling rocks. "Riku, what the fuck!"

Riku emerged looking entirely unruffled, skin ethereal in the fading sunlight. "What the fuck do you want, traitor?"

Roxas didn't know what he'd been expecting. Didn't know if, now that his world started and ended with Axel, Riku would suddenly have all the allure of a desiccated cactus. This, unfortunately, was not the case. Riku was still glorious; sharply sexy, the lines of him like minute pricks of pins up and down Roxas' arms. "Don't be dramatic," he called up, frowning. Hadn't Sora cleared it with him?

"I don't spend my time in the company of sell outs," Riku said, turning away.

"I didn't _sell you out_, Riku," Roxas said, feeling the rise of indignation in his chest, demanding he defend himself. _No. I won't play the game his way_. "I have a life. No one can fault me for that."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days? Telling your best friends to go fuck themselves, leaving one of them so fucking hurt that he locked himself in his boyfriend's pantry for three days and ate his way through most of it?" Riku's dislike of him, his actions, his entire continued existence was plain on his elegant, precise features.

Quiet, Roxas reached for his phone. "He didn't tell me that."

"Yeah, well, you'd be the fucking person he learned it from, wouldn't you? Or did you think he wouldn't know about your pill cache? Did you think he wouldn't notice it was empty, that you were missing for two days?" Roxas saw Riku's hatred crack. "We aren't stupid, Roxas. We know what you fucking tried."

"Riku," Sora said, materializing beside Roxas and brushing up against him, a familiar greeting. "Don't be a prick."

"Nah, man. I'm not being a prick. Being a prick is trying to kill yourself and telling your friends jack shit. Being a prick is surviving an overdose and acting like it never happened." Directing his increasingly loud soliloquizing toward Roxas, Riku shouted, "You think we wouldn't care? Nah, dude. I'll fucking show you what not caring looks like."

"RIKU," Sora said, voice cutting through Riku's rage. "Stop being a fucking dick, get in the fucking car, and let's go see some lights."

It was a dynamic Roxas had never seen before, wondered if it was something that had happened in the last two months. Riku's fury didn't wilt under Sora's determination, but he did strut out his front door like an arrogant prince, keys in hand. They drove in silence as they took roads Roxas knew by heart, windows down, cold December air stinging his cheeks as he slit his eyes against the whip of freeway wind. Riku had thrown on something loud and fast, Sora turning it down to hand something over to Roxas sitting in the backseat.

"Greens," Sora said, pressing the button to roll up the windows with one hand, the other holding a packed pipe and lighter out to Roxas. This, too, had been part of it, high as kites and watching elaborate Christmas decorations sail by, house curtains and blinds thrown wide to reveal ornate Christmas trees, triangular shadows decked with miniature fires of color as they drove past. In a way, that nostalgia called out to Roxas, made a part of him ache with memories.

Chest heavy, Roxas shook his head. "I quit."

The stereo was quickly off, Riku's eyes on him in the rearview mirror. "You _what_?"

"Quit. I'm off everything." Roxas didn't mean for it to sound defiant, but it came out that way, sounded like a challenge in his own ears. They pulled to a stop, having wound their way up to the Crest, the city and the sea clamoring below them.

"Well aren't you a fucking poster boy for purity," Riku said, turning the ignition off and twisting in his seat to face Roxas. "What about these?" he asked, pulling out a pack of Parliaments. "You quit these horrible life-ruiners, too?"

Roxas stared at the cigarette Riku held in front of his face, eyes dangerous. Sora watched, quiet and curious. _Call your dog off, fuck_. Deciding against mouthing off, determined not to make an issue of it, Roxas merely opened his mouth and leaned toward the filter. Riku flicked a lighter and Roxas inhaled. _There goes one week sobriety_. "Satisfied?" Roxas asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke in Riku's face. He'd meant it as a taunt, but Riku studied him appraisingly, eyes drifting down Roxas' hoodie-clad body.

"You fucking that asshole yet?" Riku asked, nonchalant.

"Riku," Sora warned, pushing his pipe into the boy's chest.

"No," Roxas admitted. "It hasn't come up."

Riku smirked around a hit of the pipe, shotgunned the smoke into Sora's open mouth. "Oh, it hasn't _come up_?"

"That's not what I—" Roxas began, warm flush washing over his face.

"They're waiting for the right time," Sora said, offering the pipe to Roxas again. Roxas shook his head resolutely. "'_Kairos,_' or something. I learned that." Smiling sheepishly, exhaling smoke out the open window, Sora wrinkled his nose in Roxas' direction. "I didn't want to tell you so you wouldn't laugh. I've been taking classes at the city college."

"_We've_ been taking classes," Riku said, fussing with a spire of Sora's hair. "And '_kairos_,' since I know your punkass wants to know, is 'the opportune moment.'"

"For example," Sora said, raising a hand as if to issue a decree. "We have reached a state of _kairos_ in which I believe cheeseburgers are necessary."

Too pleased to speak properly, Roxas merely nodded. Sora in _school_. Sora _doing something_ with his life. Roxas' heart leapt in his chest as he leaned forward and squeezed Sora's shoulder, grinning so hard his mouth hurt. _Pretty standard, lately. Guess I'm making a habit of it._ Riku's eyes met his in the rearview mirror as he started the car.

"Yeah," Riku said quietly. "I'm proud of us, too."

* * *

Nerves dulled from a slight contact high, stomach burbling happily with the cheeseburger Roxas scarfed down amidst a slight war of flying fries between Riku and Sora—"Sora, you got ketchup in my hair; I'm going to fucking kill you."—and Roxas was pretty sure even his weird, not-home feeling bed sounded like the best idea ever, Riku rolling down his street after they'd decided he'd pick Roxas up to get his car in the morning, Sora snoring away in the passenger seat. They hadn't left the house until 10 p.m., hitting at least five cities in their aimless driving, and, just like they had when they were all seniors in high school, they'd planned on dropping themselves into bed at 4 a.m., unofficial bedtime for teenage fuck ups with class in four hours the world over. Except, Riku uttering a slight, "fuck," under his breath, two houses away from Roxas' house, that didn't quite fit into the memory.

"What?" Roxas asked, lifting his head from the seat like hauling concrete slabs.

"You got company, man," Riku said quietly, rolling to a standstill at his driveway. Roxas' heart stopped dead in his chest. That was…

"Axel," he said, nearly ripping the door off its hinges in his haste to get outside. Roxas would know that green truck anywhere, would sometimes dream about driving back a freshly-fucked, wrecked Axel back to the dorms. The sight of it here, at his house, threatened to tear a seam in the fabric of reality. _Oh god, please. God, please, oh, god, please._ And there, sitting behind the wheel, was Axel, staring at his cellphone. _Shit_, Roxas thought, pulling out his silenced phone, seeing he had no less than fifty-eight missed calls from Axel. When Roxas tapped on the window, the pad of Riku's shoes as he walked up behind him, Axel turned, expression blank, lost.

Axel stared, uncomprehending for a moment, before he unlocked his door and slid out, _poured_ himself into Roxas' arms. He stood upright, but Roxas could feel him sagging against him. The boy's entire body felt weary, muscles soft, bones brittle. "Riku," Axel said quietly, nodding his chin at the other boy. His fingers clung to the back of Roxas' shirt, gripping the cotton like he was slipping away.

"Hey," Riku said quietly, meeting Roxas' eyes. _What's wrong with him?_ his eyes asked. Roxas shook his head. "Alright, well. I'm taking off." Making a quick addendum to their plans, Riku added, "We'll drop your car off in the afternoon."

"Thanks, man," Roxas said, leading Axel to the front door. As soon as they were in his living room, Roxas pushed Axel down on the couch, the redhead giving in, unresponsive.

"Hey," he said, heart drumming frantically in his chest. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

"I called," Axel said, two soft words, before he started shaking visibly. Roxas crawled into his lap and pulled Axel close. "I called and called and called the entire way down here. I was—we'd just gotten to the place, I was hanging my mom's coat up. And he was there."

_Oh my god. Not…_ "Who?" Roxas squeezed Axel into his chest, felt the slow, weak thudding of Axel's heart battering against his ribcage.

"My dad," Axel said, hand going into Roxas' hair. "I didn't stick around long. I was there maybe an hour." Axel spoke as if he were asleep, voice stripped of inflection, of life. "He treated me like a stranger."

"An hour?" Roxas asked, shuddering. "I don't know how you made it that long. I would've walked out as soon as I saw him."

"He's my dad," Axel said quietly.

"He's a fucking monster," Roxas said, holding tight.

Despite being several inches taller, Axel was thin and lean, fit easily into a pair of Roxas' pants that he wore to sleep. It looked like he was getting ready for a flood in the middle of the night, something Roxas decided against mentioning. Maybe tomorrow, after Axel rejoined the living. For the night, though, Roxas bent the silence around them, fingers dancing idly against Axel's chest long after the sun came up, the haunted look fading from Axel's eyes as daylight warmed Roxas' room, caught in his hair. When Roxas began to drift off to sleep after a particularly difficult round of thumb war, Axel brushed a kiss against his mouth, then again at his temple. One fifty and one fifty-one, both full of awe. "Thank you," Axel whispered, a small prayer, before sleep claimed them.

* * *

As Roxas was witness to time and time again at school, Axel really was a remarkable student, listening carefully as Roxas explained this significant spot, that important landmark. Lot K, where Riku taught him to drive stick, where he and Sora smoked and worried about getting cancer. Sunshine Drive, where he and Sora used to pretend they could fly, suicidal and hopping at the overhang of the city like they could dip their hands in and take home the glittering buildings and hazy skyline. The country club, where they would drink until they were sick, where a dense fog stranded them for hours in the middle of the night. And the Crest, reverting forever back to that one fateful speck on the face of a mountain, a return of the repressed, the place Roxas had jumped the tracks, tempted fate by racing trains with nothing more than his fists, his lips desperate.

"I can't believe you lost your virginity in the dirt," Axel mumbled against his neck. Secretly Roxas had always wanted this, to drive up to the Crest like all the other teenagers did, necking in a car after prom. The Angeles Institute didn't have a prom. No sports teams, no cheerleaders, no homecoming games, no school dances. There was a lot of this—fumbling fingers and inebriated hormones—Roxas had missed. The giddy high, the pinwheeling, dizzying sensation of falling, falling, falling.

"Better than behind the bleachers," Roxas recalled, Axel giving it to a girl when he was in the 8th grade. "What was her name again? Cherry? Lily?" Roxas shifted a hand to the front of Axel's pants, rubbing lightly.

Axel moaned into his mouth, easily the most exciting thing Roxas had ever heard. "I don't—_nn,_ _fuck_—I don't remember."

Roxas laughed lightly, nipping at Axel's jaw. Christmas Eve, and Sora agreed it was the _opportune moment_ to break their annual tradition of opening presents.

"Spend it with him," Sora had insisted, pillaging a box of chocolate. "Riku's dad's in Singapore this year, so I finally get to spend it with him." Sora promised there would be a substance-free marathon of _Guitar Hero_ at Riku's house, maybe a celebratory fuck or two. "He got us tickets to a magic show on Christmas," Sora laughed, eyes on Riku tearing his way through a guitar solo on expert. "Just promise me one thing," Sora said sternly, mouth set. "USE PROTECTION." Roxas, all smiles, shoved him before taking off to pick up Axel for their tour of the city. He'd found him nestled in his bed, reading a book on pyramids Roxas didn't know he owned.

"Anything special you want to do?" Roxas murmured, wanting nothing more than skin on skin, his entire body floating, electric.

Axel grinned, unlocked his door. "Sure. Let's take a walk."

Picking their way down the mountainside proved only slightly treacherous in the moonlight, Roxas directing them toward a flat outcropping of rocks that overlooked a sheer drop off into a valley, Axel's hand at the small of his back, light chatter. His gift to Axel was taped securely into the inside of his hoodie, frequent touches to make sure it remained intact as they slid and stepped over the hazardous loose earth.

"So," Axel said, tucking his hands into the back pockets of Roxas' jeans, tugging the boy up against him. "I had a rough time thinking up what to get you." A kiss, slow and dizzying. Roxas had lost count, had given up keeping track of Axel's adoration. He didn't need to remind himself anymore, didn't need the proof. "But, after talking it over with a couple of your favorite people in the world—"

"A.K.A Zexion and Demyx, who both have huge mouths," Roxas added, grinning.

"Yes, A.K.A Zexion and Demyx, who I will shortly be murdering for saying anything to you," Axel said, laughing. "After talking to them, I decided that the one thing I could get for the boy who has everything is this." Axel pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to Roxas.

A small rectangle, shining faintly in the moonlight. _He got you a piece of paper_. "A… business card?"

Taking out his cellphone, Axel tipped Roxas' chin up, placed a kiss on his mouth, and flipped his phone open, illuminating the card. "There's a recording studio by school. I got you a demo package, on-call studio musicians, soundboard, mixers, the whole deal." Roxas went very quiet, felt his breath catch. "Demyx already agreed to do the guitars, said he could call up this guy he used to room with. Said you knew him." Roxas found that he'd forgotten every word he'd ever learned. "I figured it would be nice to have, easy to burn copies of if you ever wanted to play a show." A kiss on his forehead, Axel stroking down his shoulder blades. "And you should. You have a gift, Rox. A real gift."

Not trusting himself to speak, Roxas nodded, pulled Axel down for a kiss wet with mist and desperate, happy tears. Reaching inside his hoodie, Roxas pulled out Axel's gift with shaking hands. "Merry Christmas, Axel." Taking Axel's phone from his hand, Roxas flipped it open to illuminate the two tickets that had just come in the mail earlier that day. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, three thousand miles away, in city they'd both never been in. Axel was frozen in his arms, un-breathing.

"_Roxas_," Axel whispered. "I can't—"

"Don't get too excited," Roxas said, shaking his head. "I couldn't afford the airfare, so these are just tickets to get in." The tickets trembled in Axel's hand, the other hand at his mouth, pressing there in what Roxas hoped was shocked pleasure. "I know you like history, and they have a lot of good history… stuff," Roxas mumbled, stumbling over his words. "And more than anything, more than the actual tickets, my gift to you is… is like a promise," Roxas said, crying with abandon now. There was no use holding it back; why should he? This meant very, very much to him. It wasn't easy to let himself go, to put his whole heart in Axel's hands. "I promise to be there, whenever you decide you want to go to New York, I promise to be there. With you. I promise to go anywhere with you."

Axel held him as he cried, whispered a quiet, simple litany over the night wind. "_I love you. I love you, Roxas. I love you._"

"You don't think I'm stupid?" Roxas asked, his voice hysterical. "I know it seems like a lot to give you, but I would give you the whole world if I could." His throat hurt, tense and struggling, unwilling to obey him. "I know I'm cursed, and I know we might not ever make it there, but I thought—"

"Stop that," Axel said, putting his hand to Roxas' mouth. "You don't mean that."

"But I _do_. I _know _this is too good to be true. Nothing this good _ever_ happens to me, Axel. And so," Roxas cried, Axel's jacket gripped tight under his fists, "and so I want you to know now, before something happens, that I love you so much, so so much, no matter what happens."

"Nothing's going to happen," Axel whispered at his temple, fingers smoothing down his hair, lingering at his neck. "You're not cursed. We have some bad days, babe, I know that. But you're it for me. This is real. There is nowhere to go after you, nothing left." Roxas, gasping from the sobs, buried his face against Axel's chest, nose running, eyes stinging. "It's not you that's thinking something bad's gunna happen. It's not you thinking you don't deserve to be happy."

"B-but," Roxas stammered.

"_No_, Roxas. It's not you; it's whatever's inside you. It's the same thing that tells you that you're anything less than beautiful. The thing that tells you everyone hates you, that no one would miss you if you left." The thought seemed to kickstart something in Roxas' head, his breath quieting. "That voice, the one telling you to watch out, _that's not you_, Roxas."

"Self-fulfilling prophecy," Roxas said, mind supplying a textbook term. "It's sabotaging me." His pulse pounding wildly, taking up arms against the thing that sat in his head, that took him hostage all those long years ago. A battle between the heart and the synapse, a war of all against all, and Roxas' whole life, his whole love was at stake. Whereas Roxas used to be convinced that his body was merely a cage, that he was trapped and defenseless against a tyrant's demands, Roxas saw now that his body was battleground. Yes, there was something hell-bent on destroying him, but there was also something _fighting back_, something that had been muted, dimmed, kicked aside in favor of the sweetness of oblivion.

Axel dropped a kiss to his shoulder, unzipped his hoodie, pushed aside the neck of his shirt, and pressed his lips to Roxas' skin, kissing a semi-circle across his clavicle, lips and tongue and teeth as Roxas' chest quieted. When Axel slipped a hand under the hem of his shirt, Roxas sighed, eyes closing. Despite the night air, nature's hum the soundscape, Roxas felt flushed, a fire growing inside him, leaping up to meet Axel's mouth. When Axel rubbed at the front of his jeans, Roxas' staggered into the other boy, legs weak. There was a moment of unspoken questioning, Axel's hands rubbing and rubbing at him, Roxas the opposite of quiet as his body called out for the other boy's touch.

Then: "Do you," Axel began, hands imploring. "Do you want to?"

Before Axel had even finished speaking, Roxas' mind was screaming _YES_. He didn't think he'd ever wanted anything else in his entire life. Couldn't remember being called by food, by drink, by lust, by oblivion. There, in the darkness, was a light. Nodding, nerves ignited, Roxas led Axel back to the car.

* * *

Halfway back to Roxas' house, Axel's hand on his knee, skittering up the inside of his thighs, there was a mention of the word _condom_, and while Roxas had a generous supply of lube, condoms had never really been an issue. As it turned out, he was the least active sexually active 20 year old on earth, and Axel was also woefully condom-free.

"You fuck, I know you planned it like this," Roxas said, body shivering under Axel's hands as he pulled into the parking lot of a market. "You knew I'd be pissed if you had condoms, because it would be like you planned it all along."

Axel smiled devilishly, hopping out of the car. "I admit to nothing."

It was an enthralling experience, having never been inside a store with Axel before. Roxas had to keep reminding himself that school was not real life, that these kinds of things—going to buy groceries, going to the dentist—were things that happened in reality. Except now, superimposed onto his reality, was Axel. Axel, keeping a running commentary on this brand of ice cream, that stick of deodorant. It was disturbingly domestic, Roxas smiling in clean fluorescence, and he found that it was… nice. Being here, with Axel, it was a snapshot of a real life. Something to look forward to.

Roxas was standing ridiculously close to the shelves, trying to obscure the rows of condoms from view. _What size? Isn't there a normal size? What's the difference between ribbed and ultra ribbed? What the hell does 'ribbed' even mean?_ Eyes flicking toward Axel, Roxas swallowed noisily as the redhead eyed a pack of Trojan Magnums, "LARGE SIZE CONDOMS" emblazoned on the front of the box.

"Those won't fit me," Roxas said, horrified at the frightened whisper that came out of his mouth. _Oh, fuck. Oh my god._

"You want to take turns?" Axel asked, surprised.

Face burning, Roxas shook his hands and head in tandem. "N-no, no. I mean, i-if you want, then we can, but I can do—"

Smirking, Axel turned and took his LARGE SIZE CONDOMS toward the checkout counters. "Let's try it this way the first time." Tossing a look back over his shoulder, Axel actually _winked_ at Roxas. "Then we can switch it up."

Palms sweating, clothes uncomfortable against his skin, Roxas nodded, mouth too dry to speak. The need to have Axel against him Right Now ate away at his perception, standing in line as Axel forked over some bills. He saw Axel fucking him on the grocery conveyor belt, saw Axel fucking him over a line of shopping carts, up against the firewood, over the glass display of birthday cakes in the bakery. Legs trembling as he slid back behind the wheel, Roxas realized his jeans felt very, very tight.

"You're fun," Axel said into his neck, licking at his pulse.

"I'm not going to be able to drive," Roxas said, hands shaking with excitement.

"You're so out of it, you didn't hear that checkout guy, did you?" Axel asked, running two fingers up and down Roxas' arm. Goosebumps had erupted over his entire body, dick hard and straining in his pants. "He told us to 'have fun' and gave me like a ten percent discount."

Sparing a quick glance at Axel, busy laughing at their obviousness, Roxas saw he was rubbing at himself, stroking through his jeans. _Oh, fuck_. "Axel," he said, voice tight with want, like the desire was clawing its way out of his throat.

Leaning his head back against the seat, eyes lowered with lust, Axel really went at it, spreading his legs and rubbing down the front of his pants with the heel of his hand, breathy lick of exhalation trailing over Roxas' skin. Some part of him knew he was supposed to keep his eyes on the road, but how could he not watch this? Axel, popping the button on his jeans, teasing his zipper down. "Look what you do to me," Axel said quietly, boxers tented as Axel rubbed above his waistband. Roxas thought he might scream, slamming his car into park and hopping out into his driveway, practically running to the front door. _Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck._

Peeling his clothes off, Roxas was sure he'd just had some profound realization about himself, about his life, that needed thinking (read: obsessing) about, but he couldn't think about anything past Axel's dick inside him. His mouth, his ass, in his hands—anywhere. It was the only thing he could think about aside from needing to put his hand on his own dick and start tugging as Axel toed off his shoes, pulled his shirt over his head.

"In a hurry?" Axel asked, smiling as he slid his jeans down slowly. Roxas, already on his bed, tugging at a furious pace, could only shiver under Axel's eyes. He meant to feel embarrassed or shy or _something_, anything other than plainly begging for it.

"I want you," Roxas said simply, licking a finger and pressing at himself. Axel's eyes devoured him for a minute or two, standing naked in the center of his room, erection _ridiculous_. Roxas never thought male anatomy was particularly exciting, didn't see a hard dick and get turned on, but this was something else. Looking at Axel aroused, aroused for _him_, was an entirely different animal. The desire screamed through his veins, hips twitching as Axel approached him, sliding between his legs. It's not like Axel hadn't put his mouth on him before, but that was both of them buried under alcohol; that was dulled, delirious, and desperate. But _this_, Axel's mouth slow and thorough, lips wrapped around him and dragging back and dragging back—Roxas saw nothing, heard nothing, lost inside Axel's mouth, against tongue, against teeth. Leave it to Roxas to have lube out in the open in his room, Axel popping the top and pouring into his hand, his head bobbing steadily in Roxas' lap. The lubricated slide of Axel's finger into him, _Axel's finger into him_, tore a hole in the silence, Roxas suddenly babbling. "Yes, oh fuck, god, Ax. Oh, fuck," as if he couldn't believe what was happening, Axel nursing an orgasm out of him. "Nn, I'm going to… if you don't stop, I'm going to—" Roxas whispered, eyes closing, back arching up. Axel pulled off, licked a wet stripe up to under his ribcage, and added a second finger, Roxas squirming under him.

"You're so hard," Axel murmured against his mouth, fingers sliding gently in and out, Roxas sweating into his sheets. There was an air of unreality about it, the scenario one he'd jacked off to a million times, but removed, as if his body had gone into shock at the impossibility of it finally happening. Roxas watched, boneless, as Axel tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth, eyes hungry, mouth practically watering.

"Can I," Roxas breathed, swatting ineffectually at Axel's arm. "Before you put it on, I want to—"

Axel went quiet, eyes reverent. "I would love that, but you should probably do it with this on." Axel's hand went to Roxas' neck, thumb tracing his jawline, pressing at his mouth. "I haven't been tested since… him," Axel said, having the sense of mind to have a little tact, knowing how fucked up the addition of Cloud had made the both of them. "I should be clean, but you never know. I wouldn't want to…" Axel trailed off, staring into Roxas' eyes, pleading.

"I want your sickness," Roxas said, taking Axel's erection into his hand. "I want your disorders, your disease. Anywhere you're going, I'm coming," Roxas said, his skin tingling with conviction.

"_Rox_," Axel whispered, kissing his forehead. "That's romantic and everything, babe, but please do this for me. I wouldn't be able to live with myself." Imploring, Axel held up the unwrapped condom, eyebrows raised. "Please, Roxas."

Twisting the tip, Roxas shook his head. "Fine, fine, I see you're determined that I continue to manifest on this shithole planet." He unrolled the condom slowly down the length of Axel's dick, delighted at the way it twitched and dipped in his hands. Pushing Axel lightly back against the headboard, Roxas pressed the boy's legs apart, lowered his head to Axel's cock, taut against his stomach, curl of pubes slightly darker than Roxas expected. Like warmed skin and something low and earthy, Roxas inhaled, memorizing the still, simple complexities found at this level, this close to Axel. Taking Axel into his mouth, the stick of latex against his lips as he worked up spit in his throat, pushed it to the front of his mouth, Roxas thought about sinking into Axel's bloodstream, knowledge on a cellular, basic level: what made his heart beat, his breath catch. What made him pet lightly at the back of Roxas' head, drunken, easy smile plastered on his face. Roxas swore he was drugged, both of them intoxicated on sheer proximity, his own dick weeping between Axel's legs.

Curiosity satisfied, Axel wiping sweat off his brow with trembling limbs, Roxas sat up and inched forward. "How should we…?" the question dying in his mouth as Axel wrapped a hand around both of them, stroking once, twice, obliterating all speech available to him.

"Just like this," Axel said, pulling Roxas down to his lips, mouth burning, every muscle tensed with hunger, coiled and ready to spring from thirst. The sheet of white static descended again as Axel rubbed at them, tonguing the inside of his mouth. There was the pop of the lid from the lube somewhere behind him, Axel whispering something Roxas no longer possessed the capabilities for understanding, then fingers in him, coating his insides in an ecstatic, delicious slide. When Axel settled him higher up on his waist, leading Roxas backwards until he felt the head of Axel's cock prodding at him, the static died down abruptly, replaced by a shaking, shattering want.

"Ax," he whined, voice high in his throat. Axel's cock filled him with a slow, agonizing slide, his own erection burning against his stomach. "Oh, god, I can't, Ax, I'm gunna," Roxas babbled, body shaking, hands pressing down against Axel's stomach to stop the descent.

"It's okay," Axel said, words oddly choked off. "We can do it again."

"I'm sorry," Roxas whispered, shivering. _God, this is embarrassing_. When Axel, hands at Roxas' waist, finally settled him all the way down, impaled and helpless, he gave the most miniscule thrust, more a nudge of muscles tipping Roxas over the edge of a cliff, and he lost it, leaned backwards, gripping Axel's knees as his come splattered weakly above his stomach, his body bucking involuntarily, riding through the spasms of wave after wave of pleasure. _Dammit. Goddammit. Should've jacked off before. Shouldn't have made it such a big deal. God, what are you, fourteen? FUCK. You should just—_ the stream of furious thoughts disintegrated as Axel wrapped a hand around his dick, Roxas quivering as Axel lubed him up with his own come, his hips thrusting lightly as he rocked against the other boy, Axel's dick impossibly hard inside him.

"That was amazing," Axel said into his mouth, Roxas blushing furiously. "You sure you've done this before?"

"_Yes_," Roxas bit out. "I'm just _excited_." His cheeks flamed dangerously, feverish as Axel wiped at the sweat on his cheeks.

"I can see that," Axel said, low and full of want, Roxas' dick hardening in his hand.

Pouring more out more lube, Axel reached behind Roxas, tapping him upwards so he could slide out and coat his length, open-mouthed breathing as Roxas quaked above him. Leaning back, intake after intake of breath, Roxas felt the universe coalesce around them, the stoppage of time, of thought, as Axel slid in and out of him. Fire ignited in the pit of his stomach, swirling tendrils of flame reaching out to his extremities as Axel whispered in his mouth, curses and blessings as they rocked against each other, writhing in sweat and slick lust. Roxas felt the tension build in Axel's legs, eyes focused on his face.

"I love you," Axel whispered, hair damp and curling at his neck. He looked gorgeous like this, tired and aching, his hands trembling at Roxas' hips, pulling him down and down, the backs of Roxas' thighs coated with a sheen of sweat. Eyes hazy with lust, lips bitten, his abdomen spasming as he got closer and closer, the flame giving way to an inferno in Roxas' stomach, burning through his last stores of reserve as he swore to God, to the ends of the earth as Axel reached his peak, slamming resolutely into Roxas with two stiff thrusts before sealing their mouths together, eyes squeezed tight.

He would've liked to stay like this, Axel softening inside him, plastered with sweat and spit to Axel's chest as the other boy ran fingers through his hair. The world was soft, hushed, as Axel smoothed his hands down over Roxas' back, sealing whispers of praise over the curves of his face. "Bathroom," Roxas whispered, surprised at the effort it took him to open his mouth and force the sounds out. A year and three months of unresolved want, finally at its culmination here in Axel's arms, his senses maxed out, full to the brim with sensation and unrestrained joy. Axel slid out of him, one hand holding the condom in place, and helped Roxas to his feet, navigating them toward the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet, the lube dripping down out of him, Roxas watched as Axel stripped the condom off, washed his hands and his face. The lines of him, hunched over Roxas' small sink, were glorious, the way Roxas imagined coming home felt after a long time away. The idea struck a chord inside him, washing away the stickiness from his body while Axel kissed down his spine. His house had stopped feeling like a haven, a victim of growing up and moving on, but in Axel he'd found a place to come home to.

Crawling into his bed, skin on skin, tucked under Axel's arm, Roxas saw something in the night. For the first time, a light on the horizon, the breakage of dawn. Where there had been a swirling gloom before, there was now him and Axel, hand in hand at the Met. Him and Axel in a city they'd never been, in an apartment they didn't yet rent, in a bed they didn't yet share. But it was there before him, dawn filling each room of this promised place, each chamber of his heart. "I love you," Roxas said quietly, nearly devastated at the force of such a simple truth. How he had lived his entire life without knowing Axel, how he had spent twenty aimless years wandering, blind, over a barren expanse, Roxas didn't know. It felt like he'd always been here, swollen with awe, breathlessly happy, as he and Axel drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_Epilogue _

Four figures standing on the shoreline in the dead of winter amidst the crashing surf and clink of Coronas, fingers numb with cold and stinging from slices of citrus. The kiss of the crisp, chilled air against their cheeks as they stood, waiting. Not far in the distance, the end of the pier had begun to spark, the cheer of hundreds roaring out, tumbling over the drag of waves against the sand. He didn't know what it was about the start of a new year, a day like any other, just at the start of the calendar instead of lost somewhere in the middle, but Roxas felt a sunrise in his veins, tapping into the shared hope of an entire world waiting with bated breath for the final ten seconds of another year given to the past. Sora, spinning circles with Riku, laughed recklessly over the tumult, a rocketing, "Get ready! Get Ready!" as the roar on the pier expanded across the sky, charged seaward, propelled with lungfuls of hope and crossed fingers: for a new day, a new dawn. Axel's hands in the pockets of his hoodie tugged him backward, the back of his head resting against Axel's chest as the noise built, towering as the countdown began.

_Ten_, Sora and Riku running up to them where they stood swaying to an unheard waltz.

_Nine_, four figures shouting at the top of their lungs at the sky.

_Eight_, Roxas' hands finding Axel's, fingers like ice as they linked together.

_Seven_, the end of the pier illuminated by hundreds of stars.

_Six_, Axel dropping a whisper in his ear.

_Five_, Roxas' heart straining in his chest, bursting with anticipation.

_Four_, the build at the bottom of his feet, up out of the earth.

_Three_, knees bent and waiting to spring, Axel laughing against him.

_Two_, breathless, forever breathless…

_One_, a jump. And for the first time in Roxas' life, there is no aching want coiled inside of him, no desperate need. To be taller, to be stronger, smarter, _better_—the need is gone, disappeared into the glare of the sun as Axel kisses him, swaying to the song of the swelling sea, rained down upon by explosions in the sky.

* * *

–_ fin_ –

* * *

**Final Thoughts and Thank Yous**:

Let me give you some numbers.

130,242 words

400 reviews _on the dot_

274 single-spaced pages

23 months

18 chapters

6 lost friends

1 attempt at account deletion

1 suicide attempt

These are the numbers, the statistics. These things, and an infinite amount more, went in to making _A Lesser Beauty_. I would never, ever have guessed, sitting in a graduate seminar on Milton, that a simple line from an archaic Christian mystic would spark such a devastating, life-changing monstrosity. In the pages of this fic you can see my past, my present, and what I hope with every cell in my body will be my future. I have poured my entire soul, my entire sanity into this story. I have cried into it, bled over it, spent hundreds of sleepless nights and fuzzy, tired mornings over it. I've spent years and years in therapy, have taken dozens of different kinds of psychotropic pills to battle the thing inside me that tells me that I don't deserve to live, but nothing has come as close to being a cure as _A Lesser Beauty_ has. I found myself in the pages of this story, unraveled all the pain and all the sorrow and all the secrets I had let build up inside me until they spilled out, ejaculatory and desperate. The parts that are the hardest to believe, the parts that seem the most like plot devices… those are the parts that are the most unchanged, the most true.

Axel's love for Roxas, canon or un-canon, has redirected the course of my life. As dark as LB got, Roxas fucking himself up over and over again, I knew before I wrote the first word that I wanted to write a love story with a happy ending. Even when he was chewing pill after pill, sobbing and alone, I knew he would make it out alive. (How does Dante get to heaven except through hell?) I know there are going to be people who disagree, but my aesthetic remains: you cannot know true joy without knowing true sorrow. The cut of the pain juxtaposed with the sweetness of ecstasy, throwing each other into sharp relief, a study in what is striking. Who wants easy, silver-plattered love? Not me. I want to know it is deserved, that it was earned, that it is not given freely and with abandon. But once it is there, as we see with Axel and Roxas, there is no lessening of the force, a faucet on full blast all the time, every second of the fucking day. Love heals, love transforms. Like the Beatles said: all you need is love. It's love that fishes Roxas from the depths of his despair, love that carves Axel out of his stagnant prison of hedonism. And it's love that saves me, every second of the fucking day.

Of course, though I started writing this story a total stranger to the fandom, I met a lot of people on the way here. _A Lesser Beauty_ wouldn't be what it is without them:

**Dayna** **/ zippo (dA)** You were the first person to believe in me. You were also the first person to find in me the ruin of that belief. Without you, though, Sora would've never taken as prominent a role as he did. So for that, I thank you.

**Chloé / pouikee (dA/lj)** Thank you for sharing so much of this experience with me. Without you, LB would've ended at Chapter 14. It was your belief in me and in Axel and Roxas that brought me back from the void, and I can't thank you enough for being that lifeline when I needed it the most. I'm sorry that you couldn't believe in the happy ending.

**Zheyne** I miss you. I read over your long, beautiful reviews sometimes, sitting in my inbox, unable to delete them. I'm sorry you never got a chance to see the end.

**Brie / sharpersoul (lj)** Thank you for being the voice of reason. In the past couple of weeks, you have been solid, a structure of support, for me. It means, very, very much to me to have you as part of my life.

**Matt / suddenchangeofheart (ffnet) **I miss you every day, you fucking bastard. Every fucking day.

**Kaila / tsubasa_yume (lj) **Your youthful enthusiasm and heartache have been a true joy to share. I don't even know if you still read this, lol, but I'm glad I know you.

**Jen / everworld2662 (lj)** Your unwavering support and beautiful, empathetic reviews have meant more to me that I've let you know. Thank you so, so, so much for existing.

**Koke / kokanshu (lj)** It was a true honor working with you on _117 Days_. I remain in awe of your talent and your courage in the face of the bullshit life slings at you.

**Mai / quillslinger (ffnet) **There was something you said to me once, when I was in a very dark place: "I read somewhere that writing isn't about writing what no one else can write, but writing what only _you_ can write. And by that same token, you can only write what you can, there are limits." I repeat this to myself, a mantra, when I look at everything I've written and it looks like nothing but ash; burnt up sorrow and empty air. I still believe you are the gold standard, and I am eternally thankful for every kind word you've said about my work.

**Sam / gold_panner (lj)** Thank you so much for all the kind and beautiful things you've said about my writing and me. You had a bigger impact on me than you think you did. Your light remains, like a real-life Sora. It is my loss, having lost you.

**EVERYONE who drew me fanart** My heart hurts from gratitude. I am so, so grateful for your time and effort.

And, finally, **you**, yes **you**, **the person reading this**. Without you, this is lost in the ether. Without you, silent though you often are, this story is just words in an empty room, a forgotten Word document buried on my hard drive. Thank you for reading. Thank you so, so much.


End file.
